


Cities Under Crowns

by oblivioluna



Series: War of the Foxes [1]
Category: Purple Hyacinth (Webcomic)
Genre: (hit me baby one more time), Canon Compliant, Emotional Pain to the Fifth Degree, Enemies to Allies to Enemies to ???, Everyone Has Guilt and Unresolved Trauma, Everyone's Maximum Angst Part 2: Electric Boogaloo, Ex-Partners In Crime, F/M, Minor Character Deaths, Multi, My Loneliness Is Killing Me, Noir-esque AU, Too Much Flower Symbolism For Its Own Good, at least half the problems in this story come from kieran being an absolute coward, i am queen of the clowns as always, let's put it this way: workplace conversations but worse, please shove lauren/kieran into a room and make them kiss and TALK, this is just an excuse for me to get into fistcuffs with kieran white, you're all coming to funkytown with me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:48:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23917054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oblivioluna/pseuds/oblivioluna
Summary: Officer Lauren Sinclair, formerly one of the APD's hardest-working detectives and a benefactor of the law, has just learned that the circumstances of her haunted past may be false, has almost been killed, and betrayed by her partner-in-crime - all within the last 24 hours. The vigilante duo known as Lune has broken apart for good, despite both sides of the law after them, and Ardhalis is on the verge of a tipping point more than ever before.But Lauren isn't done with this city - or her enemies, quite yet. As the formerly law-abiding cop slowly sheds her restraints and begins to tread the line between justice and revenge, doing whatever is necessary to protect the ones she loves from the clutches of the Phantom Scythe, and the ones she hates - the chaos within the city begins to unravel thread by thread, and neither her, nor anyone else, can stop the demons that threaten to tear apart everything she holds dear - including her own demons she's hidden away all these years.(A SEASON 2 AU, DISCONTINUED - CHECK CHAPTER ELEVEN)
Relationships: Kieran White/Belladonna Davenport (past), Kym Ladell/William Hawkes, Lauren Sinclair/Kieran White
Series: War of the Foxes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1723981
Comments: 60
Kudos: 133





	1. Act 1, Part 1: The Fall

**Author's Note:**

> _Tonight you're thinking of cities under crowns  
>  of snow and I stare at you like I'm looking through a window,  
> counting birds.  
> You wanted happiness, I can't blame you for that,  
> and maybe a mouth sounds idiotic when it blathers on about joy but tell me  
> you love this, tell me you're not miserable.  
> You do the math, you expect the trouble._  
>  **― Seaside Improvisation, Richard Siken**  
> 
> 
> _“But love like that doesn't just disappear, does it? No matter how powerful the hate, there is always a little love left, underneath. Yes. Horrible, isn't it?”_  
>  **― N.K Jemisin, The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms**

_January 2nd, XX27_

_I don’t know why I hesitated._

_And if I hadn’t, now I get that I could’ve missed out on an opportunity - a sure one at that, definitely, but this was before. Golden eyes, auburn hair. The rage on her face was like nothing I’d ever seen before. What an open book. If she’s out for blood like I suspect she is, she should be more cautious with her emotions. She’s nothing like the girl I saw in that cafe, who was calm and calculated like a viper. That’s who I need - that’s what I need. If I have any chance at taking_ him _down, at least. And it seems as if she wants to do it as desperately as I do - for reasons I won’t ask, but are certainly laced with a backdrop of anger._

_Well, I guess both of us have something in common besides wanting to take down the Leader._

_Ah, but now I’m lying to myself now, aren’t I?_

_I do know why I hesitated._

_If only I didn’t._

____

In a lecture given in the Ardhalis Police Academy some amount of years ago, a professor had once lectured an entire class of police cadets on the benefits - and downfalls - of adrenaline. It had been summer then, and nearly everyone’s minds were on the heat, the collective drowsiness of the student body nearly suffocating. _Adrenaline,_ he’d droned on through silvery whiskers, _is produced by the adrenaline glands and the medulla oblongata. It binds to alpha and beta receptors, acting as a neurotransmitter in many animal and single-celled organisms' brains, causing a flight or fight response in the body. It speeds up bodily function, making the body as a whole react differently._

_But remember this,_ he said. _When the rush comes - and it will - it is not your friend. No matter how much you think it is. It will calm your nerves, make you act quicker, move faster. But it is not your friend. It will invade your heart and soul, make you think it a savior in the midst of collapsing ruin and bloodshed raining above, but it is anything but an ally._

_It is your enemy._

But if there’s one thing Lauren Sinclair excels at, it’s making friends out of enemies and making enemies out of - well, former friends. Or allies. Or whatever the hell they were during their partnership; a partnership that has long dissolved down into the watery bridge they established their deal above.

_He’s_ here. 

He shouldn’t be here.

She sincerely hopes Kym doesn’t notice the urge to yank the pistol at her pocket and hold the barrel of it to Kieran White’s head. He is the opposite of a killer: meek and weaponless, clothes tightly fitted to his body, buttoned all the way up to his neck in some mockery of modesty which she knows is an enormous lie. There is no light in the blue eyes that gaze out at her from behind wire-framed glasses; they are emotionless and give nothing away.

Lauren Sinclair has never prayed in her life, but now, she prays for fear to be hidden underneath those depths.

If he thinks he can just waltz into _her_ territory and take what is _hers,_ he will be sorely mistaken.

If he thinks he can be here without serious consequences, he will be proven wrong.

“...and you’ll be introduced to the archives in a bit,” the sergeant finishes, snapping her back to reality. “Lauren! Do you feel comfortable showing him around tomorrow?”

“Of course,” she says smoothly, punching her pride in the stomach as she slides a smile onto her face, the motion as difficult as heaving boulders up a hill. “I wouldn’t mind at all. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. White.”

“Ms. Sinclair,” Kieran says, voice raspy like salt against the grating of wood. It sends tremors throughout her body; it feels as if it’s been ages since she’s heard that voice. Anger is a comfort, a comfort that rises above all the emotions in her body. It is home; it has been her fuel for ten years, and somehow, she’s missed the company of it and welcomes it with open arms. His voice is only fuel to the flames that are consuming her body, heart and soul, wiping her mind of but one single thought named vengeance. Adrenaline may be an enemy, but Lauren has known fear long enough to call it a long-time friend.

Her heart is close to bursting as she swiftly turns on her heel, showing the best charade of normalcy she can as she exits the main office, the door closing behind her. Lauren’s heartbeat echoes like a drum in her ears as she jogs down a set of steps, practically running towards the bathroom and swinging open the frosted glass door into the dimly-lit space, gasping for breath as she clings onto one of the sinks hovering below a line of mirrors. Her face is pale, incredibly so, and her hair is askew. 

_You should comb it,_ she thinks suddenly.

It takes her a couple of seconds to realize the sound echoing in the bathroom is her laughter, chasing circles around the tiles. She rakes a hand through her hair, a hand clutching her stomach as she heaves, giggles bubbling from her mouth.

“How dare he,” she chuckles under her breath, gripping onto the sink. _“How dare he.”_

The bruises on her neck have still not healed.

His presence is only a poignant reminder of what they’ve done.

Sooner or later, she’ll make him pay. She’s sure of it.

The Phantom Scythe’s deadliest assassin may have waltzed in here without a hitch, but he will by no means have it easy at all. Once, he put everything she stood for at risk. Now, it is only fair for her to retaliate, to pay back his _gifts,_ after all.

Even war has rules, in the end.

____

The door slams shut behind them.

Kieran can feel the energy crackling in the archives as Will shows him around - the place is filled to the brim with the past, every nook and cranny filled with the past blood and dust of deeds. The Lieutenant of the precinct, Kym had told him, after explaining why Lauren couldn’t possibly show him around, was so very sorry for the inconvenience, although not without a curious glint in her eyes that made every cell in his body sing _beware, this girl’s teeth is sharper than she lets on._

Not all police officers are soft as they seem; Sinclair’s only one of a breed. It’s a wide open space, filled with countless rows of precedents and unsolved cases. A trouve of treasure if one were to be searching for anything related to the Phantom Scythe - or Lune.

Right.

He can’t possibly kill himself, and forget attempted murder on _her._

Knowing Lauren, she’d--

“I’ll take it from here,” says an all-too familiar voice by the door, and he and Will both whirl around to find her leaning on the doorway, dressed in her familiar vest and pants, coat gone. There is not a strand of hair out of place in the updo she dons, falling down her back like a river of red in the light. “Sorry. Tristan wanted to meet me.”

She’s apologetic, and doesn’t bother to even cast a glance his way as Will walks forward, an inquisitive look on his face. “For the next patrol assignments? I’m leading one tonight.”

“Something like that,” she says, smiling easily. “You think Kym’s up for it?”

“Knowing her, she’ll probably fake her death before agreeing to another patrol,” he says, sighing. “But I know she puts duty above anything else. Like someone I know.”

“Please,” she says, nudging him good-naturedly. “I’m not all good cop.”

_So, the good cop still wants to remain a good cop--_

He should’ve hidden his laughter. He really should’ve.

Will doesn’t notice it, but from the way her eyes narrow in on him like a predator’s--

“Go!” she urges, practically shoving him out the archives. “I can show the new recruit around.”

“He’s all yours, Sinclair,” the lieutenant says, fingers to his brow as he departs into the hallway. Kieran waits with bated breath for his footsteps to fade into nothing, and when they do, Lauren slowly turns around to face him as if on cue, shards of sunlight coming in from the window hitting her skin in fractures. She looks like a subject from a Degas painting, a dancer, quick and light-footed in her motions.

“You,” she says slowly, and her voice does not shake, which makes it even worse, “broke the rules first.”

She is getting closer to him. Kieran dares not make a move. 

He can’t quite pinpoint if what he feels is the urge to run far, _far_ away from what is a certain death, or to try and abate her because he’s a hopeless fool even though apologies at this point will do absolutely nothing.

“You’re involved in my personal life now,” she says slowly. A swift drowning in River Westbourne would do the trick. Even one in the unreachable waters of Lethe, claiming him from the earth from where he came. Would forgetting be a mercy at this point?

“You’re here to hurt all of us, as usual.”

One step.

Two steps.

Three, four--

A hand on his collar.

_Five._

He’s slammed into a stack of metal cases, a dagger at the pulse on his throat. The metal nearly pokes into his skin, and in a swift motion, Lauren twirls the knife in her hands to aim the point directly at his Adam’s apple. Her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows, and he can see the bandages bulging through her shirt that wrap around the place where he stitched her up. Kieran’s heart sinks lower in his chest.

He does not let her see the fear in his eyes as he tilts his chin up, expression stoic as ever. “I--”

_“You’re not talking,”_ she says, the weapon at her hands a dangerous flutter of silver. Something warm trails down his neck. 

She’s cut him open.

She’s actually _cut him open._

“This is a taste of what’s to come, Hyacinth,” Lauren growls into his ear, voice as soft as a lover talking to her own. “I don’t care if your mission is inevitable. If you hurt anyone I love, anyone I care about, here or elsewhere, I’ll make sure the Phantom Scythe loses its top assassin. And then I’ll burn it from the ground up.”

“You’ll erase my legacy and replace it with yours,” he breathes, directly ignoring her orders. “I’ve been beaten, I suppose.”

“Oh, I’ll do much worse than you’ve ever done, darling,” she purrs. “Don’t worry about that. After all, you should’ve known what was waiting for you when you came here.”

Kieran freezes in his tracks.

_"You should’ve known what was waiting for you," the monster had said once, blue eyes flickering like stars in a hellish night._

“Going to out me, Sinclair?”

  
“I should,” she says, contemplating the blade, as if they’re not casually pressed up against each other tightly, so tightly that they can feel each other keenly, hearts beating in tandem and wanting, desperately, so much, to grab and to _feel._ “I really should. But I think I like watching you suffer a slow demise much, much more.”

He remembers having done something similar to her like this, once. In a snowy alley, where she had challenged him - without the slightest regard for her life. And now she continues to do so, now with the upper hand and eyes full of fire.

“Looks like I didn’t know what you were capable of,” is all he can manage. “I suppose you were right. I didn’t know how far you were willing to go.”

Lauren steps back, but barely, still rotating the tip at the blade at his throat. She moves it upwards, the sharpness of the metal scraping against his jawline. Kieran makes no move to swallow - she will cut him in a moment’s breath if he does so.

“I have my own terms this time,” she says, chuckling softly. “We still share the same goal, but that doesn’t mean we have to be on the same side about it. Lune’s conditions can be forgotten about except for one: you and I share all information related to the case. Only the case.”

“And?”

“Everything else is fair game,” she breathes. “I won’t kill you. But I’d love to harm you, Hyacinth. Just like how you’ll harm everyone else.”

_Hyacinth._

The name hurts him more than he expected it to.

“I think you’d find me more useful alive than dead.”

“I don’t know about that,” she murmurs, finally releasing the knife from his throat. Kieran inhales sharply as she flicks a finger off the side of it, her skin staining with red. “But hopefully this clears things up between the two of us. Other than that...well, I’ve nothing else to say.”

“I see.”

She nods, imperceptibly, the wicked hatred in her eyes never ceasing as she leaves the room.

Once she does, Kieran leans against the archive shelves, clutching at his throat.

Looks as if he is the monster, after all.

____

  
  


“You’re looking at him like that again.”

“Hmm?” 

“The new archivist,” Kym whispers into her ear, leaning over her desk. “What, did he spill coffee on your shirt? You look like you want to kill him or something.”

_Again, eerily on point,_ she thinks, awkwardly tearing her gaze away from Kieran carting a stack of folders away from the office. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You have a terrible poker face, Laur.” Kym swipes at her cheek, and she looks to see her own annoyed expression reflected in her friend’s eyes. “Come on. Tell me. I am a gate keeper of secrets. A sphinx of secrets. Your secrets will die with me.”

“Fine, fine,” she says, batting at her. Lauren bites down on her lip, her former actions in the archives replaying like a disk in her head. It’s like looking through a window - the version of herself three months ago wouldn’t have threatened an assassin, much less held up a blade to his neck. Especially not the Purple Hyacinth.

What is hidden must come to light, however.

Shadows rise when there is no sun to beat them out.

“Laur?”

“He’s an ex of mine,” she lies smoothly. “I just...don’t like seeing him around.”

“Do I need to kick him over a field? And secondly, you dated?!”

“Surprise,” she says waving her hands sarcastically. “But yes. We dated briefly. He wasn’t right for me. That’s all.”

She does not say: _He isn’t right for anyone and I will kick his ass if he gets close to you, ever._

Lauren Sinclair doesn’t break her promises, after all, and this one is no different.

If Kieran White is to be her downfall, she will be his ruin.


	2. Act 1, Part 2: The Descent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In her black blouse and pants, she looks like a shadow stolen away in the night, perched on his window like a cat. Arms dangling off her knees, head tilted to the side. Golden eyes glowing eerily, watching him, waiting for him. A thought flashes through Kieran’s head: if she weren’t bound to the law, she’d make a fearsome assassin.
> 
> “I’ve been waiting for you,” she says slowly. “You don’t seem surprised to see me.”

_February 3rd, XX27_

_This was a mistake._

_A foolish one._

_The thing with monsters, see, is that no one dares cross them. They may be feared by others, but others dare not threaten them because they are feared. They are able to forever reside in their dark caves and lairs of shadow, teeth and horns on display, free from worldly constraints. Except, of course, for when a maiden in white comes stumbling in, ruining everything they stand for. But that is a myth, and this story is not a myth. This story is real._

_She saw my heart, and now I have no way of knowing what she will do with it._

_I was careless._

_I cannot be careless again. To be careless in a game like this is dangerous. She is not the vulnerable one like she thinks; I am. I am in her territory, and I chose to be for the sake of my duty._

_She has my heart now, and I shouldn’t have let her near it in the first place._

______

  
  


The Carmine Carmellia is nearly full to the brim with patrons. The entire hole-in-the-wall tavern is carved out of black granite, with chandeliers emanating a warm glow above the passerby. Light glows from the glass shelves of drinks behind the counter, and Kieran leans against one of the white pillars supporting the whole place up, ornately decorated with gold leaf top to bottom. The red booths house groups of more than five; he watches as several men in one of them trade cards back and forth, the scent of cigar smoke nearly suffocating. 

His glasses bulge out of his pocket; other than the black coat he’d chosen to wear to the entire affair, he’s still in his workplace outfit. Kieran’s undone the top two buttons of the collar, though, because the shirt and overalls are nearly suffocating. Modesty is not his speciality. 

And as a figure with pink hair nears him, he acknowledges neither is Belladonna’s. Or any other member of the Phantom Scythe. She’s chosen a black sheath dress today, with leg slits on either side, lipstick a dark plum. Diamonds dangle from her earrings, and he offers her the second cocktail he holds in his hand.

“Didn’t feel like joining the masses?”

“Not really,” he says, a false smirk sliding on easy as water as he watches one of the six men yell, having lost another game of blackjack. “I’m not the social butterfly you are, Bella.”

“Touche, White,” she says, standing next to him, leaning against the pillar, hip cocked to the side. “You already have your next instructions?”

“Practically the same as the old ones. It’s a bore, really.” He doesn’t wince as the bitter alcohol travels down his throat. “They’re planning for the doom of the city on the 17th while I’m stuck in an office, acting like a lapdog.”

“You’re not pleased at helping to destroy the infamous Lune? My, I thought I’d never see this day,” she says, clinking her glass against him. “Cheers, Kieran. You’ve finally given thought to being more than a tool for the Leader.”

“I’m one of the best,” he says, knowing no one can hear them with all the noise in the bar. “It isn’t my ambition as much as it is a simple human want.”

“Well, it’s about time.”

“And you?” he asks, nodding to the knife on her leg. “Content with your steady paycheck?”

“It’s all I need,” she reassures him. “I’m not like you, little rebel. You know that.”

“I know a lot of things about you, Davenport.” His eyes wander the light casting shadows on her pale face. “You know _that._ ”

“Dangerous,” she teases, poking his shoulder. “Change your clothes, will you? Seeing you in slacks and...whatever that shirt is disgusts me.”

“Aw, you missed my old self?”

“Don’t take it personally,” she calls behind her as she walks away, strutting. “Kieran White’s no mouse.”

His smile slips down when she’s out of sight.

She is right. He is no mouse, and pretending to be so for the next few months will be...difficult, certainly, above all else. But that’s nothing compared to what he has to deal with. He is a sheep in wolf’s clothing, and Lauren Sinclair is a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

And no one will notice the sheep, even if it has killed the wolf.

____

She is filing through ten precedents, and is about to flip through the eleventh when he comes in.

Lauren doesn’t need to look, of course. She can tell by the silent footsteps, the shrug of his coat, the click of his glasses as he puts them on to complete the facade of the meek little archivist he is. It’s obnoxious, really, and she tells herself to _refrain_ from killing him right then and there because people would know, and because of the popularity he’s gained among some of the women on the second floor. Even Lila, bless her heart, was not immune to the fever that had struck.

_His eyes are like oceans, aren’t they? Pity he’s not much of a talker,_ one girl had said yesterday.

Lauren had wanted so badly to walk over there and spill everything. _Oh, you haven’t seen anything,_ she would say, all-too cheery to share information. _You haven’t seen him in the slightest._

Focus.

She needs to focus.

No, his footsteps are not getting louder.

_Joseph Eagerton, backer of royal railroad project, co-conspirator to the vehicular and motor firm Roman Chow was a part of in XX21-_

“I need that.”

His voice is soft, and she slowly turns around to see him standing there, hand out expectantly. His expression is neutral, and she can discern nothing in the blankness of those eyes. Lauren wonders how she looks to him: a predator after trembling prey, perhaps, inspecting him from top to bottom. 

So she decides to surprise him.

“Here.”

The file lands in his hands without question. Lauren won’t taunt him, that’s not her style, it’s his. But sooner or later, he’ll learn that she can play his game better than he ever could.

“Thank you.” Lauren’s eyes widen imperceptibly as she turns back to her work, but she laughs silently to herself after comprehending the double meaning behind those two works. _Thank you for not ending my life._

He really shouldn’t be saying sorry too soon, though.

Their patrol rounds have increased significantly ever since the royal announcement from the castle. She knows Kieran won’t find it an impediment to wiping anyone out who needs erasure due to the Phantom Scythe’s agenda, but she does wonder how he’ll survive playing the role of the hero while the police breathe down his neck more and more.

Well, small correction: her breathing down his back.

“Things are getting interesting out there,” he says, as if reading her thoughts. “I just saw Will - your friend? Lead another patrol midday. The Sergeant’s been on the training rounds more often. Are they hiring cadets, now?” The last part is a jab, and Lauren shuts the file in her hands shut. The game has begun.

“Well, the Purple Hyacinth proved himself more dangerous than ever,” she says softly, tucking two files under her arm, and lifting her coat from the wooden rack to the side. “He broke a record in that tower. A disgusting and appalling one. It’s our duty as police to keep the peace, no matter what. And we’ll do whatever it takes to protect the people of this city from murderers like him.”

“Murderers like him.”

“Well, isn’t that what he is?” Lauren says, voice growing slightly louder over the sound of her shutting the metal cases shut. “I do hope he manages to get caught. Hopefully soon.”

“How do you think, exactly, he’ll get caught?”

She looks behind to see him staring at her, eyes cold and mouth in a thin line. He isn’t just angry. He’s _pissed._

It fills Lauren with wicked joy.

“Who knows,” she says, shrugging with ease, smiling to herself. “Maybe one of these days he’ll be found somewhere he shouldn’t be.”

“And maybe the _police_ should be more careful with what they do.”

“Then maybe our archivist shouldn’t go in places where he doesn’t belong,” Lauren says quietly, voice smooth as honey and viscous as poison. “He might end up being caught dead in an alleyway.”

She doesn’t let him see her expression as he walks up to her, shadows cloaking his face in darkness. “I go poking around in many, many places where I don’t belong,” he says, so quietly so only she can hear the breath of his voice at her side. “And I have already danced with death too many times to be caught by her.”

“Then I hope she is a fine dancer.”

“Oh, she is,” Kieran says, and when he leaves, he curls a finger into the crook of her hair, a feather-touch, barely there - a hint of auburn around his index.

And then gone, like a shadow into a passing night.

The second the door swings shut behind her, Lauren curls her hands into fists. Of course he’d know how to sweep the rug from under her feet and leave her defenseless. Of course he’d know when and how to press her buttons. But he is trapped here in this cage with her, too, and she’ll make his life a living hell no matter what.

He may have won this battle, but Lauren will win the war.

____

This may be the worst day of Will’s life.

Today is a runner-up for worst day, really, if it doesn’t turn out to be a complete disaster. The first worst day of his, of course, involved his second week as Lieutenant and almost losing half his patrol unit to a bomb, and the second involving a certain lady, her butler, and Kym’s watermelon obsession. 

She will not stop blowing smoke everywhere.

“Will you stop that?” he hisses, blowing the gray haze out of his face. “That pipe isn’t even fully functional.”

“It soothes me,” Kym rasps in a gravelly voice that sounds vaguely like it comes from an asthmatic forty year old. “Besides, Watson, this completes the look.”

The _look_ in question is a matching tweed coat and trousers, the coat falling beyond her waist. She wears a darker cap on top of her dark blue hair, and a pipe lies in-between her gloved fingers and her mouth, blowing smoke everywhere. She looks ridiculous. The entire outfit is oversized. Kym Ladell will not stop calling herself the next Sherlock Holmes.

“This isn’t discreet at all,” he hisses. “We are investigating our co-workers, and you choose not to be discreet?”

“Their personal lives are dark and mysterious,” she says, spreading her arms wide. “Everyone is guilty until proven innocent, Williame! We will scour the deepest parts of their lives if necessary to find-”

“Lune,” he sighs. “They’re helping us, you know.”

“And there’s also the slightest possibility they could be tricking us,” she says, holding a finger up to his nose. “Watch and learn, Watson. This is how you catch criminals.”

_“We are not detectives!”_

_“WE WILL BE SOON,”_ she hollers as she pulls his hand towards the doorway. “Elementary, Watson! To the second floor!”

____

Kieran locks the door behind him, sighing. The apartment is dark, as evening falls on Ardhalis and the sun disappears, leaving his normally colorful home in shades of gray and black. He doesn’t bother to turn on the lights; instead, wanders into his studio, tossing his coat and bag to the floor. It’s an open space with potted plants near the desk where he ‘works,’ charcoal and inks discarded around sketchbooks. 

As he is undoing the ribbon around his hair, a knocking at the window alerts him to the living room. 

He’s back there in a matter of seconds, sword in hand. No one. The moon is full tonight.

“Not that window,” a voice says behind him, and Kieran inhales deeply as he turns around to face his co-worker and former partner in crime.

In her black blouse and pants, she looks like a shadow stolen away in the night, perched on his window like a cat. Arms dangling off her knees, head tilted to the side. Golden eyes glowing eerily, watching him, waiting for him. A thought flashes through Kieran’s head: if she weren’t bound to the law, she’d make a fearsome assassin.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she says slowly. “You don’t seem surprised to see me.”

The darkness covers his true expression well enough, he supposes. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

“Well, consider this visit a gift,” she says, smiling softly as she inspects her nails. “I was positively dying to see how you were doing after our little encounter.”

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

“Believe me, I’m filled to the brim with enthusiasm at seeing you. Just not the sort of enthusiasm you’d prefer.”

“Come inside,” he says after careful deliberation, sweeping a hand to the side. Lauren nods slightly, jumping down from the open windowsill, shutting the glass behind her. He flicks on the lamps, watching their figures come into light, but shadows still heel at Lauren’s feet, almost as if they want to stay with her.

“You’re not just here because you wanted to see me.”

“Why, am I not allowed in?” she asks, crossing her arms. She cocks an eyebrow skyward. “You usually let guests in, don’t you?”

“You know very well that’s not how this works.”

“And what is _this,_ exactly?” she asks, spinning a finger mid-air. He is left at a loss for words. She doesn’t smile, but he can see the clear victory in her eyes. “I know why you’re at my office specifically. It’s because they suspect the 11th. But come off of it, assassin. You’re not going to find what you’re looking for.” 

“Which I learned a day ago, thanks to you,” he murmurs, mouth twitching upwards mirthlessly.

"I know," she simpers, pouting. "You thought you had me wrapped around your finger all this while. But in reality, the hounds are on my side. And they're hungry for blood, _mon amour_. I know they are."

He tries not to blink in surprise at the use of his own nickname on her lips. It does not work. Her grin grows wider.

“That’s your plan, then?” he bites out, attempting to control his rising heartbeat. “To dangle me like bait under the noses of the police? Your co-workers? How long before they find out, Lauren, before you manage to deal with me yourself?”

“Oh, you’ll know. But for now…” She pulls aside her coat, and he sees the glint of her pistol. “Truce.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I don’t.”

“So I ask again, officer,” he says, stepping forward. “Why are you _here?_ ”

Lauren shakes her head. “For you, of course.” She walks past him, trailing her fingers amongst the numerous plants against the walls. "Although, admittedly, it's quite nice, having the upper hand for once," she whispers, hands trailing over the hilt of her gun. "One little word from me...and you'd be the one running away screaming. And you know what makes it worse?" Lauren whispers, hand clamped on his shoulder, tight as claws. "I don't lie. And they know that."

“So,” she continues, stepping back and meeting his own gaze, “what do _you_ want?” 

His nails bite into the palm of his fist.

“Why don’t we take this outside,” he says slowly. 

She nods, as if understanding the true meaning of his words. “I know a bridge nearby.”

____

Lauren knows this place, but the tunnels are a mystery to her.

They pass under an arched tunnel of blue stone, breaths clouding in the misty air. Above them is the same bridge they’d met on when they first made their pact, lamps gleaming with fresh polish. She leans against one of the brick walls, watching as sewer water pools down from the tubes covered by black gates on her right. “You found something with that file I gave you.”

“I won’t ask why you were looking at the Allendale incident precedent, but that’s none of my business,” he says, smirking. She doesn’t react to it. She’s getting better at deflecting his cues and reading through them, day in and day out: his arrogance covers his desperation, his smiles his nervousness, and so on. But he has not lost his nerve nor his brain. He’s still lethal, and the second Lauren lets him out from under her grasp, she might as well call it game over. “The Scythe wants me to go after Lune, as you so expertly deduced. I was looking through past records of disappeared or resigned officers in the 11th so most likely shared Harvey’s fate. I could subject ‘us’ to the same fate just as easily.”

“I see.”

“And?”

“I think it’s an interesting paradox,” she says, listening as their voices echo off the bricks. “How you’ll get yourself out of this one will be interesting to see.”

“Noted,” he says, blazing hatred in his eyes. Lauren does not shy from it, and instead savors every moment she is scalded by his fire.

“Well, fair enough. I was looking at backers for the railroad project at Allendale, seeing as how I ran into an old...friend of mine involved in explosives, who happens to be back in the country. Knowing him, he has allies. And I’m going to investigate those allies.”

“Clever phrasing, officer.”

“Someone could take notes,” she says, watching her breath crystallize mid-air. “But that’s none of my business.”

He laughs. It is nothing like his old laugh, carefree and tinged with the barest hint of humor. This one is cold and dark, and for a brief moment, Lauren wonders if she has pushed the monster back into his cave and made him into something worse.

But they don’t need each other anymore, and she’s made that clear.

So she locks her heart in, as usual.

“I suppose this means I can expect you to take me down soon, then?”

“Eventually,” she says, starting to walk up the stone staircase to the bridge. The moon shines high above them, and she breathes in the cold air. Without thinking, she runs towards one of the lamplights, swinging herself above the railing, balancing there like a dancer. 

Like he had centuries ago.

“Not soon,” she clarifies. “I’ll save you for last.”

“I’m honored to go down at your hand.”

"You forgot one thing, though. You go down, I go down, and so forth," she recalls. "So if I took you down, I really wouldn't mind going down with you at this point. Although, given our current circumstances, I have the upper hand. It's been like that since the moment I let you walk free, isn't it?" she asks, auburn hair whipping like a beacon in the wind. She cocks her head to the side, ever so slightly. "It really will be nice seeing you fall after all."

Her eyes bore into his.

_And so it begins._

"Greetings from your candid misfortune," she says, bowing with her hat in her hands. "I do look forward to our little...game."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It gets better* from here.
> 
> The only reference in here is Kym's obvious and very pertinent Sherlock Holmes reference, which I am sure most of you know. Other than that, there's tons of symbolism here, but...that's up to you all to see and interpret, isn't it?
> 
> (*worse)
> 
> ____
> 
> ko-fi: [here](https://ko-fi.com/obliviolunaiswriting)


	3. Act 1, Part 3: The Abduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And so our deal is made,” the officer says, mouth in a thin line.
> 
> She doesn’t say a word as she breaks eye contact with him, walking into the crowd, blending in with them seamlessly.
> 
> Kieran lifts his head up to the rain, and wonders if the storm could ever possibly wash away his endless vice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELCOME BACK TO CUC, EVERYONE.
> 
> This chapter is one to two months early, and I'm certain nearly all of you notice that by now. The reason for this is that a) stuff's over sooner than I thought, huzzah, b) I had originally planned to coordinate this fic with PH Season 2 airing live. However, no matter if I start in July or June, I will finish a month to three earlier than Season 2. But the hiatus for Part 2 of WOTF will compensate, hopefully.
> 
> Ah. Now that we've gotten that out of the way, welcome back to the 'verse. When we last left off, Kieran and Lauren had just made their...uh...bargain, if you will, and Kym and Will had commenced their investigation. From now on, since we're pacing chapters better on my end, word counts will be longer, from about 4-5k per chapter. Additionally, since it's been a while, I've thought up a bit of new content within the lore to get you all more immersed in the CUC verse/WOTF series.
> 
> 'Official' Playlist for CUC:
> 
> -'Bad Blood' by Taylor Swift  
> -'All You Had To Do Was Stay' by Taylor Swift  
> -'Strange Effect' by Unloved, Raven Violet  
> -'Mouth of the Devil' by Mother Mother  
> -'Game of Survival' by Ruelle  
> -'Without Me' by Halsey  
> -'Rendezvous' by Years and Years  
> -'The Lightning Strike (What If This Storm Ends)' by Snow Patrol  
> -'Skyfall' by Adele
> 
> Now that that's out of the way...let's get rolling, shall we?

_January 5th, XX27_

_It seems as though I’ve met my match._

_Truly, though, Lauren Sinclair is quite the wonder to behold. She struck me down like I weighed nothing. I suppose I’ve gotten rusty, or I either am not as good an assassin as I thought. Whatever the case, she’s a locked mystery. Quite the little goody-two-shoes darling, but...captivating to work with nonetheless._

_Ah, but I’ve neglected to add the most important part of my duel with her._

_She caught me off guard. With just a knife, her own two hands, in my own territory._

_She should not have._

_But I will not write down why she did._

_Not yet._

____

It is raining.

Kieran feels Lauren walking next to him as keenly as his own skin, their sleeves brushing against each other as they share the single umbrella he’s brought along. She is silent, and so is he. Breaking the silence would essentially be tearing through layers of ice at this point, and he knows when a task is fruitless. She looks straight ahead, eyes glinting with gold as the storm falls around them, lighter than it was at night. Technically, it’s a new day in Ardhalis, at five in the morning. The lamps flicker back on above them as they cross over the bridge and into the sidewalk of a curved street branching out in all directions, people in suits already milling out and about - for work, he supposes.

They, too, are here for work, although their true work is yet to be accomplished. 

He has the occasional thought as they work their way through streets: one of the most frequent being that they ironically pass for a couple, with their matching clothing. Lauren isn’t even in her usual uniform, but she walks with all the force of her usual authority.

Something about it unnerves him and soothes him at the same time.

_Talk to me,_ he does not say.

_Say something, anything, so I know what we’ve had - what we have - isn’t completely broken,_ he will never say.

But Kieran already knows the terrible truth. It is his fault they are like this, and it is fault he has driven Lauren to become - what, exactly? Something he fears. Something he has never feared before, because she has been an untouchable sanctuary, unable to break. But that was selfish of him. She is no martyr. She is vengeance to match his own.

They haven’t shaken under a blood contract, but he supposes rain will make an awfully potent substitute.

He feels her eyes bore into him as he picks up his pace, walking slightly ahead of him. 

It’s always been her. The one who caught him, when no one had. The one who made a deal with him, when no one had. 

The one who called him a-

_You prove her point,_ his inner voice hisses, and Kieran clears all thoughts of her from his mind.

“A lot on your mind?” she asks, and he is startled by the sharpness of her voice. It’s still so unfamiliar to him: this Lauren, this version of a woman he once knew, who he now knows nothing about. Talking to her, even, is like playing with fire - no, not quite. Trying to stay afloat in a stormy sea, even, where everything and anything wishes to swallow you whole. His officer is now a living void, destruction hellbent on carving out his soul.

Nothing should scare him.

He doesn’t quite know if he’s ready to admit she does, yet.

“Suppose I do,” he says, choosing his next words carefully. “And it concerned you and certain pieces of information you gave me about Flemming’s documents and the associate you found dirt on.”

“Well, go ahead and tell me. We can share information, after all. It’s in the contract.”

The contract.

Barely a contract, even, just a truce to not kill each other in _plain daylight._

“I’ve found out where and when that select associate will be returning to Ardhalis. From the southern reaches of the islands of Ju’maa, beyond our continent. Family business. Whatever associate’s involved with the Scythe is getting resources abroad, and they most likely have a personal reason involved.”

Lauren shoves her hands in her pockets, breathing in the damp air. “Interesting. Looks like this operation is bigger than I thought. You’re suggesting another stakeout?”

“Together?”

“Of course not,” she says, throwing a bitter glance his way, mouth curving upwards. “That would be too scandalous, wouldn’t it?”

“Then show your cards before I toss mine out.”

“Wish granted.” She clears her throat. “But you haven’t clarified your intentions yet.”

“Meaning?”

“That associate has connections to Apostle Twelve, who’s been orchestrating his little rebellion under the Leader’s nose. And so are you.”

“I don’t make allies easily, officer.”

“No, you just force them into a blood pact at midnight like all your other allies.”

“Low blow,” he mutters, pride demolished.

“You first.”

They don’t talk much after that. The 11th’s headquarters are only three blocks away, and that is when she decides to snatch his umbrella away from him, holding it high above them as the rain grows harder.

“Go ahead,” he says over the sound of the torrent pouring down upon them.

She looks over at him, giving him a non-committal once-over. “You’re going to get soaked.”

“It’s three blocks. I have my coat. I’ll be fine.”

Lauren stares at him for approximately five more seconds before tucking the umbrella over her head, slowly walking away from him until he is now pelted by the rain, water soaking his hair and clothes. He makes no move to cover up.

“I knew you wouldn’t be happy about this.”

“Happy about what?”

“Me, being here. I didn’t want to in the first place, officer.”

“Technicalities,” she says, shaking her head slightly. “It’s always orders with you. I understand. I have my orders as well. Which gives us a common ground.”

Kieran does nothing but continue to stare as he holds up his hand, rain running down his skin in rivulets. Lauren looks down at it, and before he can start to feel embarrassed at the thought of her leaving him open, she takes it, shaking it for only a second, then yanking her hand away - as if she’s been burned by fire. 

“And so our deal is made,” the officer says, mouth in a thin line.

She doesn’t say a word as she breaks eye contact with him, walking into the crowd, blending in with them seamlessly.

Kieran lifts his head up to the rain, and wonders if the storm could ever possibly wash away his endless vice.

____

Lauren touches the cool marble of the white mask on the brow of her face. 

The original designs made by the manufacturers of the Ardhalis Police Department had intended for the protectors of the city to be faceless, unidentifiable. The original masks, therefore, had been full sheets of white, curating a voidless visage for anyone who worked under the seventeen precincts. No identifying features. Just a shadowed set of eyes and intentions. Sometimes she misses wearing the original designs, which faded out of use due to complications with the public five years past - but no longer. She is still a woman without a name under the law.

Sometimes she wishes she could disappear entirely, too, but no one will know that. Although if Kym doesn’t stop staring at her while they walk through Thornwood Street, adjacent to bloody Whiteriver, Lauren might have to actually take matters into her own hands.

A yawn bursts her bubble entirely. “How many rounds have we done?”

“Five.”

“It feels like twenty,” the sergeant moans, cuffing Will on the back of his head. He shakes his head, batting at her heads while trying not to explode in anger. But Lauren knows the veins on his forehead popping all too well. “Seriously. We aren’t even getting paid overtime.”

“The wonders of serving the city,” Lauren breathes, exhaling as they cross the street. Another patrol is in the distance; slightly bigger than their own crowd of nine. The tenth precinct, perhaps. “Not an extra paycheck to your name.”

“And not enough sleep, either,” Kym grunts. 

“Benzodiazepines help,” Lauren says without inflection.

“That is _not_ healthy,” the lieutenant says, wincing.

“Says William ‘I Have Chronic Eyebags’ Hawkes?”

“You know I hate it when you’re right.”

“Come off of it. You know you love me,” her companion teases, watching joyfully as Will’s cheeks heat, red spreading over his pale skin like red paint over a canvas. But their voices tune out when Lauren rounds the corner ahead of the patrol, eyes darting around the street signs. _Capitol. Kingsguard. Atticus. Chestnut._

“I really, really hate the Purple Hyacinth,” she hears Kym mutter, and freezes, staying silent while she and Will fall into easy conversation. “For the murders, yes, but also, contributing virtually nothing into our paychecks.”

“Considering he’s the enemy of the state, I highly doubt our flower murderer would even think of pulling a Robin Hood for a second.”

“He could,” Kym suggests, looking down. “His intentions, I mean. Awful as they seem. There’s something awfully interesting to be found in the heartless.”

_Heartless._

“Meaning?” Will asks, looking at her with a genuine curiosity. He seems captivated by this part of her, even as she rambles on and on.

“Well, think about it,” Kym says, and Lauren shivers, but it is not from the cold. “Why do people kill? There’s always a motive. It’s one of the first things we learn. You start from the top of human want, because everyone wants something, honestly. Money, fame, power. And then you go down to the basics of human emotion: fear, anger, desperation. Protection. The better motive out of a lot of worse ones. Like the desire to see someone hurt. The Purple Hyacinth must have a motive. He doesn’t ask for anything, unlike some murderers, so he doesn’t want something material. His hand could be forced, and for all we know, he’s doing his duty because he has no choice. Helplessness. Or apologies, even. Didn’t you say you once thought the hyacinths were an apology, Laur?”

She is close to breaking.

“I did,” she says icily, attempting to warm her voice as fast as she can. But Kieran White, the Purple Hyacinth - her past partner-in-crime, her current enemy - is difficult to reconcile, even now. Even now. What does she know about him?

She never knew him at all.

“But I was wrong,” Lauren says, shrugging as she looks at the two of them. “I have to be. There’s no way in hell he’s sorry for what he’s done.”

_If he were,_ the darker part of her thinks, _he wouldn’t have tried to kill me, too._

_But it’s not about me. It’s not about Dylan. It is not about Anslow._

_Liar_. _Little liar, don’t play games with yourself._

So maybe these ten years she’s been playing the fool, fine, but that doesn’t mean her future goals have to be founded on vengeance and anger alone.

They can also be fueled by twisted justice. Yes, to spare the city from what she went through. Justice doesn’t always confine itself to rules and regulations, and really, she’s been breaking those for more than a year, now. What difference does it make to act after everything they’ve been through.

She’d promised him she’d tear the Scythe down. 

The least she can do is try.

“After the tower? You’re probably right.” Will sighs as he looks to the next street. “Our fifth is almost done. Don’t die for your next five, Ladell.”

“I’ll try. Don’t drift off, okay, Lauren?”

“I’m not sleepy, I told you!”

“Yeah, but you’ve got that look in your eye,” she quips, winking. “Scheming face.”

“I need you to help me put up with him,” Kym says, tugging at her hand. “Let’s go, okay?”

“Yeah.” She nods, slowly, awakening from a dream. “Let’s go.”

_Whiteriver Street,_ the street pole reads, and the cycle continues.

____

  
  


The way Ardhalis functions is like a snail. Kym had once wrinkled her nose at this silly little comparison, but her professor in the academy had reassured her it was real. Seventeen precincts, revolving around a centerpiece, the first. The first five were the closest pieces; the last six the farthest. And the seventeenth precinct the farthest from the downtown city, almost near the countryside. 

The seventeenth, frankly, smells like sweet-toothed cigars. The horrid kind. Which is interesting, given the amount of shopping stores around here. Hat stores. Perfume stores. Pop-up farmers markets vending fresh fruit and pastries.

The way she looks at the watermelon makes Will want to throw a tantrum, so Kym purposely makes a big show of it before she relents and pulls him towards their first big investigation-related encounter.

Lila Desroses is a relatively innocent woman, but Harvey had been, too, and Kym will not let a single colleague of theirs go untouched.

“At least you modified the detective outfit,” Will says, wincing at the ‘detective’ part of it. The tweed jacket now falls around her smoothly, down to her knees instead of her ankles. She hasn’t let go of the pipe, however, and the trench coat she wears hovers around her shoulders. 

“Well, I do whatever for fashion,” she says, swinging open the door to _Desroses_ _Tailoring and Womenswear._ “In, Hawkes!”

“Uh, the ‘Womenswear’ part…”

“No, there is no lingerie. Despite what you were hoping for.”

“Ladell.”

She pouts. “Yes?”

“Let’s just go and see her mother.”

“You might live to regret that,” she says, as the door swings shut behind them, bell ringing loudly. “She’s a real piece of work.”

“How did sweet and innocent Lila—?”

“Don’t ask me. But she might not be innocent. No one is,” she drawls, voice descending into a low bass as she makes claws with her hands, shadows darkening over her face. 

“Can I help you?” asks a nasally voice, and both Kym and Will shudder with the force of it.

The Desroses-family shop is a cloistered and cramped one, decorated in shades of flaking green and olive. Bulbs dangle from high above, and potted plants that are clearly dying are littered around the corners. Only two wooden booths are up front, and behind them, numerous hangers of clothes, with notes slapped on them for alterations’ sakes. Mannequins, staring eerily into nothingness. Skirts of chignon and blouses of silk - the poorer kind - nearly everywhere on plastic models, and hats, _very_ elaborate hats, perched on wigs of flax. One of them has a bird cage on it. Kym stares in horror as she realizes the title on it reads _THE ARTHINGHAM MODEL._

The woman, however, pays no heed to her shock, and coughs. Loudly. From what Kym can tell by a rapid inspection of sorts, she’s middle-aged, with rapidly graying hair and a very sour expression. She’s not happy to see them. Kym also wonders if her puffy, overstuffed dress and feathered hat nearly ripping over the brim is doing wonders for her attitude.

“I said, can I _help you,_ detectives?”

“One detective, really,” Kym says, stepping forward, raising her badge in the air. Will does the same. “We’re just here to answer some questions. Are you aware of where Mrs. Desroses may be?”

“I am Mrs. Desroses,” she says. “Do not call me Karen.”

“Okay, Karen,” she mutters under her breath, trying to control her laughter.

“Kym, please.”

“Are you aware of the duo they call ‘Lune’ these days?”

“I’m not living under a rock, aren’t I? Are you even qualified to be asking questions of this sort?” Karen looks them up and down. “Do you have a warrant?”

She watches as Will’s face contorts in agony.

Yes, this is going to be _that type_ of interrogation. 

“Warrants are for searches,” she says as calmly as she can. “Do you know if they’ve ever come around the 17th precinct? Eyewitness accounts, rumors, anything anyone would’ve spread around here.”

“Can’t say that I have,” she says, nose upturned. “They usually frequent the main district. You’re being very intruding, detective.”

“How so?”

“The shopkeep around here have nothing to do with Lune. Neither I. In fact, they haven’t been reported to be seen for weeks now.”

She and Will spare a glance at each other. That is true. And awfully suspicious, but they know that already.

“Your daughter works in the administrative unit. Could she—?”

“What exactly are you implying about my daughter?!” Karen demands harshly.

“Nothing, ma’am!” Will says, taking the reigns. Kym breathes out a sigh of relief. Maybe Will’s deep blue eyes will calm this woman’s nerves enough so she can actually start asking real questions. “Nothing at all. We just want to make sure she’s safe.”

“She’s safe,” Karen says slowly. “You get three more questions before I kick you out and call the manager.”

“You’re not the manager?”

“Two questions, detective,” the woman warns, and she has to resist throttling Karen to death.

“Lila has a routine, doesn’t she? No disappearances at odd hours of the night?”

“Not once.”

“Ah,” Kym says, coughing lightly, “and no...visitors?”

Karen stares them both down.

“Get out of my shop.”

Wrong words.

They leave the shop.

When Karen slams the door shut, locking it, both of them sigh, then look at each other. It’s Will, surprisingly, this time around, who bursts into laughter at the whole affair. She watches him wordlessly, a small smile creeping up on her as he doubles over. 

“You,” he chokes out, “are a _terrible_ investigator.”

“Shut up!” she yells. “You know as well as I do she hates both of us. Well, at least this crosses Lila off the list.”

“I mean, she was obvious,” Will says, stretching. “Who next? Let me choose someone with a deeper, darker past.”

“No,” Kym says slowly, watching a carriage cross by. “No, I think I have a better plan.”

“One that doesn’t involve breaking into womenswear shops?”

“Don’t make me actually drag you into a lingerie store,” she says, giving him the middle finger as she walks away, cocking a pair of hidden sunglasses onto her face. “Don’t you make me do it, Williame!”

____

Lauren sighs as she adjusts her chignon for what feels like the tenth time.

The Homston Theater Fundraising Event just _had_ to take place at the Sinclair Manor on one of the worst nights of her life. Tristan had convinced her it wouldn’t be that bad - but if there’s one thing Lauren hates more than liars, it’s acting. Even acting for a relatively short three hours. Which says something about how these parties go, given how the average upper class party lasts seven hours plus. Some of the department will be here, in support. She knows Lukas will be here because of his family in merchandise, but others - children, perhaps, heirs to companies who have made their fortune in defense.

Defense. A thinly veiled term for _weaponry._

Anyone in the main five countries of the continent - whether that be in Ardhalis or outside it - knows that the country, much less the city, is dirty to the bone.

It’s going to take ages to clean it up on both sides; rid it of the corrupt and criminal both. Or perhaps there’s no difference in her line of work.

“I really wish he hadn’t bombed that theater,” she mutters to herself, jamming a pin into the mass of thick auburn hair swirling around her nape. It stays, which is the least she can do for now. 

The bombing, the bridge, _him._

Lauren shudders as she grips onto the vanity, clutching at her throat.

It seems like worlds away now.

The pearls cover her bruises, which still slightly show through the makeup. Less, though. There is no time to parade her weakness. 

She has to be a maiden of iron to survive what’s to come. 

_He isn’t even coming here. Why are you worried?!_

She knows the answer already, but won’t admit it.

Lauren distracts herself by yanking open the zipper of the black gown on her bed. The maids had advocated for a fancier gown - _“you should do better, Lady Lauren!”_ \- but she’d resisted, instead settling for a simpler yet still timeless piece of work. A simple gown made out of black silk, with a sweetheart neckline and off-the shoulder short, capped sleeves. Trailing down to her ankles, with a slit up the side. She can wear this to a thousand events, at least, instead of one. Funerals too.

The thought of attending Kieran White’s funeral is funny, she realizes, smirking as she puts on the dress. But not quite. The sinking of her heart worsens as she zips the gown up, staring at herself in the mirror as she clips on her matching pearl earrings, an off-white shade of cream. 

She does not recognize who stares back.

But that’s normal.

Lauren Sinclair of the past is gone. Lauren Sinclair, one half of Lune, is gone. Lauren Sinclair of misled trust and taken advantage of and fooled is dead, buried five feet underground.

Now there is someone borne out of fury and wrath and vengeance, stronger than ever before.

“You will win this,” she hisses, voice a dark and raspy thing, and she finds that she loves it. “You will win.”

____

Ah, but of course he is here.

The white rabbit, jumping from place to place, watching her seethe silently. It really does not help that he looks like one of _them,_ laughing and talking their ears off, charming the Randalls, the remaining Graysons, even the elusive Chantals, who have come back from a vacation in Beaubonne, off the southern coast from resting in the elite rest spot of L’Ange Blanc. 

There is a donation pile in the center of the manor where her uncle speaks, handing the microphone to another man on the stage. Lauren barely has time to register Kieran coming up to the front lines before - Captain Dakan, she realizes - speaks.

“Thank you all for coming here,” he says, gesturing to the black and white crowd before him, in a tuxedo himself. “I cannot give thanks enough to our devoted Chief of Police for organizing the funds to give back to the community—”

Kieran is whispering in some poor girl’s ear. She’s giggling, her dress glinting like ivory stars. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Like he is some normal, flirtatious and charming man, not some disasterpiece of an awful, horrid human _being—_

Lauren sees red.

She walks up to him, drowning out the rest of Dakan’s speech as she profusely apologizes to the girl. Kieran turns to her, and she looks him up and down: he’s chosen a white ensemble, of course, to contrast with his jet-black hair and stormy eyes, hidden behind gold-tinted spectacles; half-moon ones. When did he switch glasses?

As mad as she is, she makes no move to grab him like she did before. The only part she’d touched of him was his clothed arm in the archives, his shoulder in his house, and even now, with him being fully clothed and his hands gloved, she feels open and vulnerable, gooseflesh running along her skin. 

“You and I need to talk,” she hisses.

“Oh, so _now_ you ask for my attention?” He shows no humor in his face as he regards her coldly, smirking mirthlessly. “Jealous, officer?”

“Get your damn head out of that bastard ego of yours,” she snarls. “You shouldn’t _be here_.”

“I am in many, many places where I shouldn’t be,” he purrs. “I thought we’ve been over this?”

“Why?!”

“I’m staking out. Alone,” he adds, sweeping his hands outwards. “Because our usual stakeouts would be too...scandalous, wasn’t it? So I am respecting your boundaries, dearest. I thought you’d be happy with that.”

“There is nothing here for you to _stake out._ I’ve checked,” she mutters, drawing closer to him by necessity; she doesn’t want to be overheard. “None of the high society members here have connections to the Phantom Scythe. If you count weapons backing, then all of them. And no, nor the Chantals nor the Randalls nor any other family was gone for suspicious reasons. The _associate_ does not have connections here, either. There is nothing here, Kieran, and the only reason you’d be here is—”

“For you?” he says softly. His gaze bores into hers. “Just to aggravate _you_?”

“We’re not allies. And you’re not beneath that.”

“Thanks for the reminder.” His voice may be curt, but it’s not a lie. Lauren watches him in fury as he walks behind her, turning around to face her. “Well, you’re wrong about one thing, officer. There is something here. One of Davenport’s associates is here, although they don’t know that they’re working for her. For production of...other weapons, let’s call it that.”

“Fine.” She bites down on another retort. “But I’m watching you. Don’t you dare interact with anyone else. Wherever you go, I go.”

Kieran shakes his head, sighing. “Very well, _Lady Sinclair._ ”

____

She shouldn’t have prevented him from talking to other people.

Honestly, at this point, Lauren doesn’t even know if she’s made the right call to even talk to him at all. Because he can’t interact with the others, Kieran is left trailing the rest of the manor, silently searching for Davenport’s associate, who he’ll likely kidnap and interrogate in a cave somewhere. Right now, he’s sulking exaggeratedly by the refreshments table, swirling amber liquid in a flute glass. She knows he can sense her miles away from him, across the room, leaning behind a large column. 

Watching his every move.

Lauren knows he is watching her just as intently. She can tell by the annoying curve of his lips.

In a flash, though, he’s up and about, as a donation box is being passed around with everyone’s names around it, the open top nearly spilling with papers. She sees him look around as if at ease, then drop his own folded paper into the box.

She waits approximately five seconds before sprinting over to inspect the box, dropping her own name in hurriedly before she searches frantically for his paper. 

Eventually, she finds his paper, with scrawled handwriting on it. Lauren shys away from the crowd as she tugs it open, shock coming over her face first, then anger.

She crushes the paper in her fist.

_HELLO, LAUREN_

_You’re making me want to kill you, assassin._

She then panics as she realizes she has lost him.

But no fear, for he is only across from her in the main foyer, dancing with the blonde who he was talking to earlier. He sways in the middle of the dancers, talking to her easily. Lauren steps into the throng of people watching the crowd, locking eyes with him as soon as he notices her enter.

The girl is still talking to him. He is no longer looking at her.

“Library,” she mouths quietly. “Don’t be late.”

____

When he enters, she’s waiting for him.

The entire library is dimly lit, with towering bookshelves cast in shades of amber and gold from a gas lamp on the desk Lauren resides on. The chandelier above him is off, dangling with sparks of fire and glass above them. Her legs are crossed, as if she is but a demure woman waiting for a midnight rendezvous; a sculptor to make her come alive, a maiden.

But she’s no white marbled maiden by any means, and so Kieran closes the door shut. 

“The blonde,” she says. “Davenport’s associate?”

“Unaware. I was able to pull some strings, and find out that she was a tea leaf reader at the Red Rose shop in the 12th precinct, not far from here.”

“What, exactly, did you mean by ‘other weapons’?”

“Literally,” he says, mouth twitching upwards. “An ally of Davenport’s, Sake, has come back into the country bringing a shipment of vials with him. The Scythe hasn’t given me solid information on them yet, but I suspect they’re meant to be used in weaponry.”

He watches her freeze in motion.

“Sake. Tim Sake?”

Kieran frowns. “You know him?”

Lauren doesn’t say anything for a beat of ten. 

And then she breaks into laughter, clutching at her face. Kieran watches her bun come slightly undone, strands falling into her face. When she finally straightens up, she inhales deeply, sweeping back her hair. 

She spares him nothing but a cold glance.

“We have history,” she says quietly. “Let’s just leave it at that.”

“So do him and I.”

“I couldn’t care less,” she says, waving a hand as she sits back down on the desk, sighing. “You think Davenport’s associate and Sake are involved in the same operation? From what I’ve seen, she seems relatively innocent, but you can’t trust anyone these days.” The comment is a double edged sword, and he knows it. “Truth be told, the fact that Sake’s back, and the overseas associate is coming to Ardhalis soon is an enormous warning sign. Along with Twelve taking over the Leader’s operations...it looks like more than one rebellion is going on.”

“So it seems.”

“Drop your associate,” she says, scooting off the desk. “She’s mine to investigate. You can handle the overseas associate.”

“Doesn’t seem fair. I had her first, after all.”

“I know she’s beguiled by your charms,” Lauren says, wincing as she passes him, “for some reason, but it would be a bad idea for you to get personally involved with her. And you’re terrible at conversing with people outside flirting. I’ve seen it first-hand.”

“What compliments you give out, officer,” he says. “Truly, I’m flattered.”

“I tell the truth and swear to say nothing but the truth,” she says, voice a sharp and raspy thing. 

“When, then? Your little investigation?”

“If I told you, you’d interfere. Just have your information in by the end of this week.”

He slams the door shut behind her as she gestures to leave, blocking her path.

“Move.”

There is no light in her eyes.

“Lauren,” he says. “A truce needs to be double-sided.”

“We did make a truce. Now let me _go_.”

She makes for the doorknob again, but he holds her back. _Mistake,_ Kieran realizes too late, as his ungloved hand snakes over her wrist, the pale skin there, for more than a second. She stumbles back with a yell, clutching at her hands.

And her throat.

“Don’t touch me,” she snarls. “Do _not_ touch me.”

“I…” Kieran inhales. 

There is nothing he can do.

He opens the library door.

“Go.”

She’s gone in a matter of seconds, and when she’s finally disappeared beyond the hallway, Kieran closes the door shut, sliding down it with his head in his hands.

“Congratulations,” he mutters to himself. “You’ve screwed it all up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Desroses shop was inspired by Sophie Hatter's shop in Howl's Moving Castle.
> 
> Ardhalis is now based off Paris's arrondissments, I guess.
> 
> Kieran's ensemble is a reference to the white rabbit in Alice in Wonderland, even though the references are pretty scant in the last three sequences or so.
> 
> The myth of Pygmalion shows up in the last part, if you squint.
> 
> And lastly, the idea of different countries and continents will be fleshed out in future chapters. I'm so excited to take us on a world tour, but not really. Also, you guys will get to meet the associate from Jum'aa, pretty darn soon. You'll all love her...or hate her. But she's one of my favorites to write, along with...three other OC's? Who, me? Inventing new lore? Whoa.


	4. Act 1, Part 4: The Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If that night she hadn’t made that bargain with Kieran...it would’ve all been so different. She would’ve made him her enemy, and he the same. Two sides taking each other down from the inside, dancing around the same goal. It would’ve been kinder, really, to step into something more cruel and brutal than the facade of trust they had as partners in crime. 
> 
> At least as enemies first, they would’ve known their end.
> 
> But now they are enemies second, and Lauren doesn’t know what awaits after she drags him down with her, brick by glorious brick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's worldbuilding in this chapter of the story; quite a hefty bit. But consider it an info-dump for now, because it will be elaborated on later on. Ardhalis's lore being the focus, of course, which you will all learn throughout the fic.
> 
> There are five countries within the continent - Ardhalis, Orseau, Beaubonne, Seltel, and Beltone. Two seas separate Orseau and Beaubonne, the Ituile and the Korsal Seas. For reference, all the countries are clumped together, like the United Kingdoms, and are placed where each country is. For reference:
> 
> Ardhalis = England's location, based off London + England itself, obviously  
> Orseau = Northern Ireland's location, based off France + Spain  
> Beaubonne = Ireland's location, based off Southern France  
> Beltone = Scotland's location, based off The Netherlands  
> Seltel = Wales, based off Wales + Ireland (the placement is off, but please trust me.)
> 
> The Islands of Jum'aa are based off pre-1950s Saudi Arabia/Persia, and I want to make that very clear. I have a grudge against authors who elaborate on European-coded fantasy countries and then combine ALL OF AFRICA/ASIA INTO TWO/THREE COUNTRIES. You will not get that here. I promise.

_February 7th, XX27_

_Mother always said that she had a way of telling when things would go wrong._

_I don’t know why I’m thinking about her now. I didn’t before. The memories are coming faster now, but they’re all a blur. Is this what nostalgia feels like?_

_She knew. The way mothers know where and how to find your clothes that have gone mysteriously missing, how to fix broken glasses, mend a burnt cake. She knew when there would be storms in Ardhalis, and saved our house from a flood. She knew I’d end up leaving her, although I didn’t want to._

_I don’t need to have her intuition to know that things that are broken must break._

_Sooner or later, this’ll be the beginning of the end._

____

He doesn’t like not having the upper hand.

Lauren can tell by the way his mouth thins when he next sees her in the archives, the clench of his jaw the only indication he’s surprised by her presence. This time, she hasn’t come here to look through evidence on Allendale, nor their current objective, but for him. 

But not for the reason the office thinks. So far, she’s done a relatively okay job of charading her dislike for Kieran as the inevitable dislike one has for a jerkish ex-boyfriend, at least, if Kym doesn’t catch on soon enough. Right now, she’s perched near one of the windows, twirling a bright red anemone in her hands. Shipments had come in for the late winter, the administrative unit claiming they’d wanted to light up the place. And now the flowers are everywhere, blooming bright crimson around the office.

“You surprised me.”

“I did,” she says, and it isn’t a question. “Just checking in with my old partner.”

“So you are here for me.”

“Who else would I be here for?” she asks, sliding off the windowsill. The way she slinks towards him, Lauren realizes, is feline. Silent-footed and still. Forget Lukas, she’s the _real_ Type A stone cold Grumpy Cat. “Found anything on your girlfriend?”

“Careful, officer. People might start suspecting you’re actually jealous.”

“Just answer the question, assassin.”

**“I haven’t.”**

She sighs. “If I held the trigger to your head—”

“Not even that.”

“Then I suppose it’s only fair to return in kind,” she says, straightening her beige vest. “I’m visiting the ports before your associate comes abroad. Unlike one of us, I haven’t been sulking over last night.”

She watches his eyes widen by millimeters, and smiles to herself. “Yes, Mr. White. I can tell when someone’s been thinking, too.”

“And what does your analysis say?” he asks, eyes darting to the side as one of the other archivists comes in, readying the trolleys for today’s daily delivery. 

She hooks a finger under her collar, exposing the bare softness of her neck. Lauren quivers as she looks up to the ceiling, because if she makes eye contact with Kieran at this point, she’ll crack open and expose her weakness like she did last night. And there are no second chances with someone as heartless as he is.

“Are they still visible? I didn’t put on as much makeup today.”

But her fingers are still shaking.

“No.”

She tugs her collar back up, brushing past him as she leaves the archives.

**“Have fun with your stakeout this week,”** she calls behind her, once the other archivist has left. 

And for the second time, leaves him in the dust.

____

“Lune’s last trace left us with Flemmings. As we all know, that lead was quickly and swiftly eradicated by the Purple Hyacinth,” drawls Hermann, sharp eyes driving nails into each and every officer gathered in the meeting room. “I know each and everyone of you have dedicated yourselves to additional patrol rounds around the city, and so have your peers in other precincts. However, the investigation unit has come back with their discoveries, and so our own line of defense must come to the call. A man named Joseph Eagerton will be visiting the local port today in order for a meeting to see in shipments of industry metals for the rebuilding of a new sector in the Allendale Train Station.”

Lauren’s eyes snap wide open.

“This could be an opportunity for the Phantom Scythe to send their finest after the station as a distraction. For all we know, even after Eagerton himself, who is a prominent member of high society. I want a skilled team of ten on the case.”

_“Yes, sir!”_

Her fists are clenched far too tightly.

“Lauren. Lauren, are you okay?”

Kym. Will is asking her too, waving his hands in front of her face.

_Connections with Roman Chow, and his son, Kevin._ The files swirl in her brain. _Backer of railroads._

“Don’t be stupid and ask Hermann if you can join the patrol. I’m pretty sure his answer is already in his eyes,” Kym warns. Lauren turns an increment to the left, and there he is, eyes bearing poison as he looks into her own. _Don’t even try, Sinclair,_ they say.

She’s not going to try.

“Don’t worry,” she said, trying for a half-hearted smile as she nudges her friend. “I’m not. I’ll play it safe this time.”

“Just don’t play it too safe. That’s not the Lauren I know.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Oh, if only Kym knew what was going on in the gears turning in her mind.

It would be a risk to confront Eagerton head on with the patrol unit at bay. But to observe and listen would be another thing. The port has plenty of cover for her to hide. All she has to do is swipe detective equipment from the investigators working on-duty.

March can’t see her. None of her former co-workers can.

But if Lauren can spook Kieran White, infamous silent assassin, this will be a piece of cake.

____

The best way to go unnoticed in a crowd is to act not suspicious. Which would be a rule of thumb for anyone infiltrating anything, but she’s had her past share of people chasing her and her coworkers down while undercover in obvious clothing not meant for streetwear.

So Lauren walks the streets to the port as a civilian all but dressed for a jog, loose pants and sweatshirt covering all but her face and hands. A duffel bag is slung over her shoulder, and that’s where her true equipment resides - recording headsets, microphones, wireless handheld radios. 

The information she’d overheard Hermann given to the chosen ten was that Eagerton was due for a visit in one of the luxury ships, where he’d talk over developments with backers. She can easily slip through, and listen through the large vents that air throughout the ship - and if she’s lucky, through one of the floors.

She just has to not get caught and get exposed as one half of Lune.

How do you even explain to an expectant public that Lune is good as dead? Yes, they are still alive. No, they are no longer _true_ partners in any sense of the word. Any trust they had is now gone and buried five feet under.

Perhaps, if she were bolder, Lune could be her own story. But that would be foolish arrogance. A one-woman army hellbent on taking down the world.

If that night she hadn’t made that bargain with Kieran...it would’ve all been so different. She would’ve made him her enemy, and he the same. Two sides taking each other down from the inside, dancing around the same goal. It would’ve been kinder, really, to step into something more cruel and brutal than the facade of trust they had as partners in crime. 

At least as enemies first, they would’ve known their end.

But now they are enemies second, and Lauren doesn’t know what awaits after she drags him down with her, brick by glorious brick.

“And now you’re thinking about him again,” she mutters to herself, nearing the port. 

The _Ameles_ is a luxury ship, in shades of ivory white and black with tinted glass windows. A bridge leads up to the main entry, where two guards are on patrol. There’s no use infiltrating the ship’s entry in daylight, but the patrol unit should be here in three, two…

“Officers! We’ve been expecting you.”

And there he is, in a neatly pressed monochrome suit, gray hair slicked back. 

Lauren ducks behind the side of the ship as Eagerton and his fellows greet the unit, vaulting herself onto the second floor of what is practically a lauded yacht at this point, the guard at the door to one of the main officers turning around swiftly at her appearance.

“Hello, there.”

Before he can shout for help, she’s knocked him out cold.

____

She adjusts the knob on her device to hear their voices better, but it’s difficult to hear anything over the sound of laughter and the potent smell of cigar smoke wafting through the office. Thankfully, Lauren has not had to hole herself up in the vents, but instead resides in a room above their own, emptied of all furniture and left to collect nothing but dust in the air. She watches above the vents, the bars framing their heads in gold.

“This city’s had its fair share of misfortune,” drones one of the men, voice coming through thick and strained through the wireless headphones she carts. Her fingers twitch on the dial. “A renewal is what it needs. Ardhalis may be rotting from the inside, but it certainly doesn’t need to show.”

“The Black City,” another says. “I went abroad to visit Beltone - Lieserdam, you know? - and even there, where drugs and everyone runs free for all, they whisper about the corruption to be found here. That’s what they call it. The ‘Black City,’ indeed.”

“Lieserdam’s carefree as a kitten on catnip, so don’t necessarily take their word for all it is,” jokes Eagerton, chuckling as he smoothes out his beard. Lauren hovers over the vents, golden eyes searching the room. Five men, all in a circle, in velvet and down chairs, relatively unaware of their ever-present watcher. “Besides, don’t you have family there?”

“Oh, you know they all moved out. The Weavers are everywhere now. Cousins are right here, daughter-in-law and her husband in Orseau and Beaubonne, one in Seltel, the more distant side somewhere across the Korsal Sea. Where, I have no idea, but hopefully not worse than here.”

“Well, Ardhalis is my project through and through, so Allendale’s stuck with me,” Eagerton sighs. “Although it would be better for project developments to start sooner. Stupid shipments have started coming in later and later because of so-called ‘overseas imports’.”

“Aren’t they usually transparent with the weapons we ship?” guffaws an older man.

She frowns. Overseas imports can only mean one thing.

“Usually,” says Eagerton, tapping out his cigar. “And thankfully the shipments of metals the company ordered came through. But that’s all we’ll be getting for months. If the railroad isn’t finished on time, I’ll be very upset.”

“You do know who could be behind all of this, correct?”

“Don’t you dare,” warns Weaver. 

She clasps a hand hard over her mouth as a low snarl escapes her lips. Lauren’s eyes widen in reaction to her impulse - she’s usually better at masking her emotions. What the hell is going on? Then again, Kieran had always—

_Get him out of your head!_

If her emotions are her giveaway, she might as well make them an advantage in her current situation - the larger game at stake, even.

“The Phantom Scythe is not a myth. As much as we’d like to think of it that way.”

“We don’t want another Allendale repeat,” warns one developer.

“And we won’t get one,” says Eagerton smoothly, tucking something into his pocket and rising. “I’ve made sure of that, and the police outside are enough to protect us from any situation that may arise—”

As soon as his words leave his lips, he is knocked out cold by the hilt of a sword.

Lauren can only watch numbly as the rest of the five developers are made unconscious by a figure dressed in dark brown and a green coat. His hair whips around him as he slashes into two men, leaving them for dead in their chairs, blood splattering everywhere. 

Her fingers are steady as she unlocks the vent.

All Lauren sees is red.

“Why,” she says as she lands soundlessly on the office floor, coming face to face with a bloody Kieran White, “must you ruin everything I do?”

_____

  
  


Blood splatters on her, too, when he sees her drop down from the vents.

Kieran isn’t surprised that she’s here at this point.

Red streaks down his face like a scar, and crimson coats the bottom half of his clothes. Black hair hangs over his face, and his coat sweeps his damp pants as he turns to face her head-on. She’s dressed in a short black coat and tight pants, recording equipment attached to her belt. Lauren’s pistol is tight in her hands, and blood streaks her boots, little dots peppering the chin of her milk-white skin.

_Snow White,_ his mind thinks impulsively. 

“Officer,” he says slowly. She looks closer to murdering him than she ever has. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

She sighs. “No, you didn’t. And now you’ve destroyed valuable information.”

He snorts. “Weaver and Smith were just ‘valuable information’ to you?”

“Sorry, I forget they were your distant second-removed uncles,” she drawls, kicking aside an unconscious man. “Thank you for destroying my leads.”

“Actually, this is your lead,” Kieran says, pointing to Eagerton with his sword. Lauren sighs louder.

**“Your generosity never fails to astound me.”**

“And mine,” he says, gesturing to her. “You’re welcome.”

He barely scrapes past the trajectory of her bullet searing into the ground, leaving black scores behind. 

“What the hell, officer?!”

“You’re welcome,” she repeats, and what she does next surprises him. Lauren Sinclair does not laugh, nor retreat, nor advance. Instead, she simply plops into a chair, fiddling with a half-finished glass of amber liquid.

“I don’t have any thanks to give to you,” she says, inspecting the glass. “Remember that we aren’t partners, darling.”

The nickname is like an arrow to the heart.

It hurts more the second time around, he supposes.

“Which is why I’m tired of you ruining my goals,” she says, twirling her pistol in her fingers. “You burst into my office without permission, and then go to a ball where you shouldn’t be, and then now, ruin any potential information I could’ve gotten besides Eagerton.”

“Your point?”

She walks over to him slowly, a small smile on her face.

“Don’t,” she whispers in his ear, hot breath ghosting his tender flesh, “get in my way.”

The barrel of her gun trails down his chest, ending at his abdomen.

“Don’t forget that either,” she says, and when she parts from him, Kieran can finally breathe after being drowned underwater. “Or you know what I’ll do. With no regrets.”

The truth, too, is a million arrows to the heart.

“I do.”

“Good.” She nods to his coat. “Clean yourself up first. I have a man to interrogate.”

_____

“You look like a dead woman walking.”

“Thanks for the compliment, Kym.”

“I mean it,” she says, looking her friend up and down. Lauren’s skin is flushed, as if she’s just run a thousand miles. Her hazel eyes roam the outfit she’s wearing: she’s got her usual uniform on, but her jacket’s an unusual rumpled blue, as if she’s put it on hastily. Which would not be suspicious were it not for the look in her eyes.

She’s looking for someone, Kym realizes. It doesn’t take a detective to realize who.

“Look,” she says, cuffing her over the head, “will you just tell me what he _did?_ I don’t need you committing murder on my hands.”

“As if,” Lauren says, wincing as she scoots back in her desk, rotating in her chair. 

Inhale. Exhale. Hesitation.

“We were close,” she says softly, rotating both thumbs in her hands as if to comfort herself. Her voice is taut and cold, forcing her vocal cords to go along with the act. “The thing is, he was the first…” She shakes her head, laughing softly.

“Uncle told me dating was a part of moving on. And for a while, I was close to.”

“How’d you meet?”

“On a bridge,” she says. “ **I was meeting one of my dates there,** and came across him. He rescued me, in a way. From letting my past catch up to me. It was nice, for a while. He understood. Kieran did, or at least I thought he did.”

“He understood you,” Kym says slowly.

Lauren inhales, a sharp stab of pain in her every movement. “I thought he did.”

She understands.

“I won’t kill him, but I won’t tell anyone if you do.”

“Seriously,” Lauren says, wrapping her hands around Kym’s in a gesture of affection. “What would I do without you?” Kieran enters with a trolley at that exact moment, and her friend flinches beneath her.

“Just be wary of him, alright?” She looks into Kym’s eyes, just shades away from her own golden gaze, and squeezes her friend’s shoulders in a gesture of affection. 

“If you’re wondering if I’m - what is it? - vulnerable to his charms or whatever, don’t worry about that,” Kym says, gagging as she nudges Lauren. “He’s not my type anyway. Too quiet. Not easy to rile up.”

“Good for you,” her companion says, but Kym doesn’t see the tell-tale flicker of her mouth.

____

She shuts her mouth at the urge to tell her everything: how that isn’t what Lauren means, and how dangerous Kieran really is, rather than how he presents himself, and how much of a danger he is to them all.

How he will be her downfall.

But she does not, and continues to play along in a dance that will only last for so long.

____

  
  


“And nothing on Randall?”

“Nothing here,” says the detective, handing the folder back to Will. He lowers his voice, bending down to whisper. “Hermann’s told me about you and the sergeant’s mission, you know. If you ever need any assistance…”

“That won’t be necessary,” the blonde assures him, shaking his head lightly. “Trust me.”

“Well, we’re all here to catch Lune.” The detective squints. “Even though they’re gone.”

“Not for long,” Will says, tossing the folder back and forth in his hands.

When he leaves the building, scarf and coat around his shoulders, the Ardhalian winter air hits him like a ton of bricks. It’s been like this for months now, the wind an ever-present chill during sunny days, the stormy sky crackling during snowy ones. Some joke Ardhalis has winters that last forever, and the weather gives good fuel to those myths.

_We need to focus on the few we know nothing about,_ she’d said to him. _Wouldn’t that make more sense?_

_Harvey,_ he’d suggested. _He must have connections._

So far, they’d unearthed two suspects, and no one else. Following Harvey might lead them into a dead-end, but it was more than nothing. And perhaps they could even consult Lauren about this, too. Having a former detective on their side couldn’t hurt.

Although she seemed preoccupied with her business these days. He was concerned for her; they’d have to catch up sometime like she’d promised.

It’s a long walk back to the office, and when he gets there, he nearly collides into an archivist running a trolley down to the first floor, papers floating askew in the air.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he says, apologizing profusely as he and the archivist bend down to pick up papers. “I wasn’t looking - my fault - don’t say sorry too, please?”

“Well, I wasn’t the one who saw you,” the archivist says, smiling slightly. Will recognizes him - overalls, half-moon glasses. Lauren’s ex-boyfriend. He winces at the thought. “So, yes, it is in fact _my fault,_ and I have to say _sorry._ ”

“Apology taken.” He cocks an eyebrow at the elevator. “Heading up?”

“You first.”

It’s less awkward when they get into the elevator, metal bars slamming shut as they descend upwards. Conversation flows easily between them, and Will discovers Kieran White is not quite the timid, socially incompetent man he first found him to be.

That is, until Lauren breaks their bubble.

Somehow, she’s the first one waiting at the elevator, and nearly yanks him out by the sleeve.

“Nice talking to you, Hawkes,” Kieran falls behind him. 

“You too!”

He promptly receives a pinch on the ear from Kym. A wave of nostalgia runs through him at the worst moment possible: it’s what his mother used to do to him when she was still healthy—

“Lauren doesn’t like people talking to her ex,” Kym says, sticking her tongue out. “Don’t get too close to Kieran White, okay? At least not now. He’s,” she says, leaning in close, “actually a real jerk.”

Will raises his eyebrows. “He really did not seem like one.”

“The worst ones always have something to hide.”

He ponders this for a while. “True.”

“You can talk to him,” Lauren says, patting him on the shoulder as they walk down the office aisles. “I just - it’s going to be hard for a while. Seeing him here.”

“If you need anything, I’m here,” he says, squeezing her own shoulder. “You owe me a get-together sometime, remember?”

“Fine, I’ll go ahead with your lunch plans, _mom_.”

“That’s the spirit.”

____

Eagerton had been surprisingly easy to get information out of. All Lauren had needed to do was play the role of a savior, come to rescue him and the others from a gruesome fate tainted with hyacinth petals. He hadn’t left his signature flower for once. Lauren wonders if he is showing his true cowardly colors or being cautious about who he slays.

His project was backed by the Aevasthers, who had wanted to make up for the city’s tragedy. Elizabeth had reluctantly given into Phillip’s demands, although she wasn’t particularly known for her public contributions. And she was still no closer to finding out about the special weapons being imported in. The only lead she had was Kieran’s resident blonde at the tea shop. Lauren didn’t want to visit so soon, but the sooner this week she could find out anything, the better. Saturdays, perhaps. Fridays would be relatively bad for a shop as popular as the Red Rose.

As long as Kieran kept his promise to meet the associate from abroad.

But his promises mean nothing anymore.

And lo and behold, speak of the devil and he appears.

A bouquet of lilies is in his hands.

“These are for the office,” he says, the look in his eyes screaming _do not kill me right now, please._ “Red everywhere. I figured these would be a nice contrast.”

“You have good taste,” she says, looking at the flower arrangement, fingers tapping a soft petal. “The archives?”

“Where else?”

“Hm.” 

“That’s all?”

_You never had a problem with red before,_ says the retort on the top of her tongue, but Lauren’s heart is weighed down with the sight of him and Will talking together in the elevator. Laughing. Like two normal people and not a lieutenant and a killer.

It makes him seem almost—

“Good luck with flower decorating,” she says numbly. Kieran doesn’t say anything, but nods slightly as he walks away, leaving her alone this time - alone in a darkened hallway.

____

The inspector closes the briefcase before him, pushing it across the table.

“Destination?”

Smoke is all around them from the boats coming into the port, engines whistling in the air. Packed crowds hover near inspection lines, luggage in tow. 

“The Aevasther Castle,” the woman in front of him says. 

“And you’re coming from?”

“The Islands of Jum’aa,” she responds, a small smile playing on her lips. His eyes widen. “Recognize me?” 

The inspector hurriedly hands her her badge and ID back, bowing deeply.

“Welcome back, Seneschal Illes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kieran's background. *inhales deeply*
> 
> Red anemones mean 'forsaken,' or 'forsaken love'. Likewise, white lilies mean 'purity' or 'innocence'. Kieran has been canonically associated with the latter. As for Lauren, you'll see later. 
> 
> Ardhalis is nicknamed the 'Black City' as a reference to 1920s Chicago, which was nicknamed said city. Chicago was just as corrupt in those times as the city is now. 
> 
> A seneschal is a governmental or administrative officer. In this universe, you'll see where exactly in the government Illes is ;)
> 
> And yes, Illes, our associate from Jum'aa, has shown up! I decided to go according to Eph's 'ABC' system and continued the pattern. You'll see people with last names 'E, F, G, H, I' in here, and Ms. 'I' has already shown up, a week early. Is she going to screw up everything or not for our unsung heroes? You'll see. We're in the last part of Act 1. Act 2 begins soon, darling foxes.


	5. Act 2, Part 5: The Duel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So she walks. Walks and walks and walks and watches him walk, too. It’s like painting a picture in her head: capturing this moment forever. Suspending Kieran White in oils and paints, raven hair tousled over his face. Ribbon floating in the wind. The sky darkens as they follow each other, sun illuminating the last of the sky as it turns a rich blue. The street lamps are coming to life, one by one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've begun Act 2! There are 5 'Acts' of Cities Under Crowns, and it's been quite a ride to jump into the second already.
> 
> How much of a ride will this be, Luna, you ask? Well, dear reader. You know how the tag says Noir-esque AU?  
> This fic will slowly start to descend into being more of a film noir-esque fic as it goes on...alongside transforming into the sappy, overloaded, romantic and emotional k-drama I've always wanted to write but with occasional pew pews. And angst to the Fifth Degree. That's what I mean by Noir-esque.

_ January 12th, XX27 _

_ She nearly got both of us killed. Over a stupid picture. _

_ I should hate her. I do hate her for it. _

_ And yet, I understand. _

_ But I’d never tell her that, of course. She’s the one who needs to hide her emotions better. Or perhaps she shouldn’t, because sometimes I’d give anything to not feel nothing anymore. But it isn’t nothing that I feel. It’s an act. And if the act goes wrong, I fall, and she falls with me. _

_ She doesn’t deserve this. _

_ She doesn’t deserve to fall with me. _

____

  
  


When Will closes the door to the Wood residence, Kym already knows what’s wrong.

“Nothing,” he says, sighing. “They won’t talk about it, much less Harvey at all.”

She looks at the house beyond the gated entrance. Vines trail up the edges of the house, which is a lovely shade of eggshell blue. But the curtains are drawn, and the lights are dimmed. Dimmer than there were before. And Kym knows the interior; because she’d gone in with Will before she’d been kicked out. Portraits of a family together. A collection of china spoons. Herbs hanging from the kitchen ceiling.

But within those walls is a lifelessness to the people living there that Kym knows keenly enough. It is what death leaves behind as a gift, stench ever-present.

“Looks like their clocks stopped, too.”

He doesn’t look at her funny when she says that. Some part of her is grateful that he understands her - or at least, that part of her.

“He was...kind. And he left his imprint on them very deeply.”

“You could say that,” she mutters, pushing herself off of the brick wall, standing across from him. “They didn’t even know the Scythe was threatening him.”

“Let’s not mention them ever,” Will says, wincing. “It seems to be a trigger for the entire family.”

“Especially for his sister.”

“Yeah. That.”

Adelina Wood would’ve lost her life at the hands of the Phantom Scythe were it not for the paramedics during Hansbury Street.

Now, she lives without her right eye. 

“You’re shaking.”

Kym looks up to see him standing near to her, the scent of coffee and ink palpable as he brushes her shoulder, concern clear on his face. Despite the layers she’s wearing under her uniform and coat, she has come to realize that she is, indeed, quivering in her boots.

“Look, don’t talk about it if you don’t want to. You’re stubborn like that,” he says, holding up his hands.

A vein nearly pops on her forehead. “Stubborn?!”

“See, this is -  _ never mind, _ ” he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. In a flash, he’s taken off his coat, handing it to her.

“Will you just take it and not say anything else?”

She stares at it for a beat of five.

And promptly snatches it from his hands.

“Yes, but not because I’m going to wear it. Because I want to see how well you freeze to death.”

**“I’m going to kill you.”**

“I wasn’t cold, and you shouldn’t have played the heroic chivalrous knight!” Kym says, walking ahead of him as they start to make their way down the street. “Seriously, is this what girls like?”

“Most of the time, when they’re not making their superior officer freeze,” he grits out.

She sighs, but a grin is etched on her face loud and clear.

When they come to a halt on Kingsguard, a car zips by, wheels trailing slush in the puddles of brown water across the streets. She stares at her reflection in them, wind rippling the visage of her face.

The pocketwatch in her pants is burning a hole through her clothing.

“We do have a lead,” Kym says out loud, as they cross the street, dodging puddles. Will looks at her in surprise as they venture over to Capitol.

“We can’t discuss the Scythe with Adelina, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“We can’t,” she says, biting down on her lip. “But wasn’t Hansbury Street done by the Purple Hyacinth? And the Allendale incident by numerous members of the Scythe? If we narrow down the events when and where they were, and where Lune was, too—”

“Narrow down our options even further.” Will glances over at her. “This is going to take overtime.”

“Without pay,” she says, yawning. “You owe me watermelon.”

“It’s winter.”

“I’m not relenting!” Kym says, tugging on Will’s coat as they enter the police station. 

She won’t admit that wearing it brings her a small amount of comfort despite it all.

____

“You’re going to burn the eggs, Sinclair!”

Before Lauren can object, Will’s already at her side, turning off the stove. The edges of the two eggs in the pan are slightly browner than she should be, but thanks to his quick hands, Lauren hasn’t sent his house up in flames.

“Didn’t you learn how to cook when we were in the academy?”

“Barely,” she says, perching herself on one of the chairs around his wooden table. A book looks up at her:  _ The Maltese Falcon.  _ Her friend’s house is close to the police station, as a lieutenant, and only slightly wider and taller than Kym’s. It’s a brownstone, slathered in shades of gold and white and black. Crystal-cut lights, and a neat appearance within just short of cold. Will’s always been a neat freak. 

“If you weren’t always reading on your off-time, maybe you wouldn’t burn eggs.”

“Well, isn’t that how we met? I was reading and you happened to tackle right into me as you were doing practice laps?”

“I guess I have your habits to thank, then,” he says, chopping up carrots to put in their sandwiches. “Although you’re less introverted than you were as a teen.”

“Eighteen’s just short of adolescence, and I wouldn’t say that,” she says, gritting her teeth. The only one she gets unhinged around these days is Kieran, and it’s starting to bleed out into her interactions with others. 

_ Control yourself. _

“The first Saturday of a winter that’s trying to kill us all, and you’re still nose-deep in distractions,” he says, plopping their lunch on a table. “Eat, Sinclair. Or I’ll have Kym shove blueberry scones down your face.”

“Even you?”

“You really shouldn’t be surprised at this point, Laur.”

“Fine,” she mouths through a bite of bread. She looks up at him. 

“Is she doing okay?”

The temperature seems to drop ten degrees.

“I really don’t know. Her condition is...in the air for now.”

“I could tell you were avoiding the topic last time, but I didn’t want to say anything,” she says. “Kym’s open, too, if it isn’t me you want to talk to.”

“Lauren…”

“And no saying ‘I can handle this,’ alright?”

“Now who’s the mother hen?” he asks, and she chuckles in response.

____

The Red Rose is an elite gathering spot for Ardhalis’s tea enthusiasts. Lauren can tell that from the way the building portrays itself.

It’s shrouded in greenery, which she surmises to be fake. Stained glass panels flit color onto the cobblestones, while the wooden sign high above dangles with a red rose drawn onto it. Bells jingle as people exit the large doors, carrying paper bags of tea leaves or talking about their tea sessions. A menu of options is plastered outside the double doors, which Lauren walks over to inspect, tossing her scarf over her blue coat.

  
  


_**THE RED ROSE** _

_**Tea Options** _

_ Green//7.50 PER CUP _

_ Black//8.30 PER CUP _

_ Oolong//9.00 PER CUP _

_ Yellow//10.00 PER CUP _

_ Pu-erh//5.50 PER CUP _

_ Combinations on Page 2... _

_**Afternoon Tea** _

_ Briar Rose Set//30.00 _

_ Primrose Set//35.00 _

_ Tudor Rose Set//37.00 _

_**Evening Greenhouse Sessions** _

_ GREENHOUSE SESSIONS MUST BE SCHEDULED IN ADVANCE. _

_**Greenhouse Tea Readings** _

_ PLEASE ASK ABOUT OUR TEA READINGS! _

  
  


“May I help you, miss?” asks a woman in a waitress outfit when she enters the wide-open space. It’s abuzz, though slightly more quiet than she would’ve expected for a Saturday. People in sets of twos and fours are in plush crimson sets, hovering around ornate tables. Actual flowers of all kinds are blooming and drowning the walls in lush leaves, the scent nearly suffocating.

“I have a greenhouse tea reading scheduled for today. The tenth session.” She hands over her card. “For Lauren Sinclair?”

“Ah, I do have you for today. Curious about our special visits? We usually do garden tours in the winter. Our greenhouses are one of the few ways Ardhalis experiences any plant life during the snowstorm seasons.”

“Actually,” she says, “I just need to speak with one of your employees. A... **friend** of mine recommended her as a tour guide. She works here often, I believe?”

“I know exactly who you’re talking about. If she’s free, she could take you around the place after your reading.” The woman leads her into a brightly-lit hallway, glass panels lining the walls. She can see numerous flora growing from this angle. Waterfalls rushing down handmade rocky alcoves, flower bushes, ferns, trees of all kinds - lemon, orange, jasmine. 

“That’d be nice, yes.”

When they enter the greenhouse, Lauren realizes it’s less a greenhouse than it is a mini biome. It doesn’t even seem like winter in here. The scent of flowers will not leave her nose.

And there she is, the blonde. In a light blue dress falling to her knees, gloves on her hands as she inspects a laurel tree.

“Beaumont!” the woman calls. “Your tenth client is here.”

She turns around, and Lauren sees sparks in her gaze. Light in clear, leaf-green eyes.

“Lovely to meet you,” she says, shaking Lauren’s hand, smiling widely. “Daphne Beaumont. Shall we begin soon?”

____

Kieran sees no sign of Lauren. 

This is a sign that everything, so far, is in his favor. 

As of now, the office is decorated in anemones and lilies, white and red waving on the windowsills across from the other buildings, where purple hyacinths sway in the wind. Less, though. Nowadays, there are less of the flowers around, due to - well. His own actions, even though honor for the royal family never leaves the people’s minds for a second.

If she saw what he was about to do, she’d most certainly kill him. His eyes dart around the office as he carts his trolley through, two preserved lilies in wax residing on the folders he holds in his hands.

For the lieutenant and the sergeant.

For Kym and Will, her two closest friends.

Guilt swathes him like a rushing river at this point, and he won’t ask how she can’t see that. But he supposes they both have their hubris.

“Will, look at these!” Kym says as he plops the folders with the lilies on both their desks. “Wax! They won’t die!”

“Interesting,” Will says, twirling the lily in his fingers. He looks up at Kieran. “And you did this?”

“I have experience with flowers,” he says, shrugging.  **“Worked as a florist when I was younger.”**

“Does this mean you gave Lauren flowers, too?”

_ “Kym!” _

“If you’re trying to suck up to us because of her…” Without shame, the blue-haired woman makes a knife motion across her neck. Will looks like he wants to die. “What exactly did you do to her, anyway, asshole?”

“Kym, I swear,” Will says shakily. “You don’t have to air their dirty laundry out like that. I am going to die if you do.”

“Relax, honey. I’m whispering.”

Will looks halfway dead at the use of ‘honey.’

“Can we just not, Ladell?!”

“I’ve been trying to make it up to her,” he admits sheepishly. “But I can’t talk to her for more than ten seconds without her wanting to slit my throat.”

“So she’s still sharp as ever? You deserve it.” Kym asks, eyeing him top to bottom. “Don’t try anything funny, White.”

“Always,” he admits, a small chuckle coming out of his mouth. “The least I can do is—”

The elevator doors slam open.

In comes Lauren Sinclair, brushing begonia petals out of her hair. She’s dressed fancily, to a degree. A blue coat and silk scarf over her uniform and badge. It’s akin to what she wore to their walk on the bridge. The second walk, at least. Not the third. The third visit is still burned into his mind with the force of a branding iron. She’d captured his ghost and come into his mind as someone too much like him for his comfort. Her auburn hair stays behind her in a thick knot, strands falling in front of her face like crimson in the light. An anemone is tucked in her pocket.

He savors the five seconds of peace before she sees him. When she does see him, she freezes, as if rooted to the spot. Her eyes dilated like a cat’s: she is furious.

Kieran backs away, raising his hands as Kym and Will chatter away.

_ I’m backing off,  _ his signal says.

_ You’d better be,  _ every muscle in her body screams.

When Kieran and her step into the elevator, she slams the button to the second floor. When they’re out of sight from their coworkers, she turns on him. He speaks first. Terrible mistake.

“I am not trying to kill your friends—”

She slaps him in the face. He reels back into the elevator wall with the force of it.

“That much is clear,” she growls. “Don’t try and get close to them. Don’t try and get close to anyone. We made a damn deal, and if you hurt any of them, even though Lune’s gone? I won’t hesitate.”

Now, he knows. Now he knows she means it.

“Understood, officer.”

The elevator doors ding open. Kieran is only mildly surprised when she follows him out, adjusting her scarf. “I’ve got one more round to do. Are you planning on trailing me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m trailing you home.”

“Will I get the opportunity to see you, then? I’ve missed our little chats.”

Silence. 

The truth hangs between them like forbidden fruit.

“Maybe,” is all she says. “Finish up. The work day’s almost done.”

____

It’s snowing again. 

He hasn’t caught onto her trailing him yet. He walks in the white backdrop of the city alone, like a raven in the night. The snow falls heavier this time, but Lauren finds it too similar to the last time they walked like this - together, then, not alone. Same coats, same people, different circumstances. 

A broken bond, dangling like a thread still connecting the two of them. Wherever he goes, she does, his shadow. As if she is drawn to him, still, after everything. As if there is something that ties them together, beyond their betrayals, their lies, their promises.

His house is far from the 11th precinct, but he’s still chosen to walk home. She knows he isn’t much for it - which is why she knows he is walking only because she is.

Seven miles. Seven miles of silence.

So she walks. Walks and walks and walks and watches him walk, too. It’s like painting a picture in her head: capturing this moment forever. Suspending Kieran White in oils and paints, raven hair tousled over his face. Ribbon floating in the wind. The sky darkens as they follow each other, sun illuminating the last of the sky as it turns a rich blue. The street lamps are coming to life, one by one. 

He rounds a corner, and she follows him.

The absence is too much to bear.

Which is why she doesn’t initially react with disgust when he pops up in front of her, facing her head-on, closing their distance by miles.

The snow continues to fall.

He is near. 

____

“If I didn’t know you by now, I’d say you’d want me here, officer,” Kieran says, watching as the lamps flicker in the Ardhalis night. His coat whips around him as he hears the smallest of footsteps in the snow. She approaches, a piece of the dawn in the wrathful sky. 

“Curious?”

“Always.” Her voice is quickly fading away as she passes him, and there is no way he can reach out and grab it, pull her back from the brink, the edge of an abyss, an abyss he has created. “And you don’t know me.”

She is inches away from him.

They could walk side by side if he just—

Kieran pulls back his hand.

He dares not touch her.

“Well? Have you enough evidence I’m not off to go slaughter innocents?”

“Not quite,” comes her dry response. “I still don’t trust you. Plus, these neighborhoods are dangerous.  **I’m being cautious, White.** ”

“It’s an honor to have you protecting me, Sinclair.”

“Not for long.” She sighs, her breath coming out in wisps. “I gathered new information on my associate. Her name’s Daphne Beaumont. She seems to love her job there. The only problem is that I can’t figure out what role she has in allying unknowingly with Belladonna.”

“Are you asking for assistance, officer?”

“Yes.” She looks him straight in the eye. “Yes, I need assistance. But I’m not asking.”

“I know Davenport well.”

“I know you do,” she says, smiling softly. The smile is anything but soft. “Which is why I require your services.”

What happens if she never forgives him? What then? What becomes of Lune? A thousand questions bombard his mind as she continues to talk, his enemy, his ally, his old partner, his—

“Long talks bore me,” she says, as they near his house, and once again, she has become his ghost. “And I need a stress reliever.”

“What,” he says slowly, “do you say to a detour?”

She eyes him crudely.

“Outside. Not in the cave.”

“Very well, officer.”

___

  
  


There is a clearing outside the cave. Thankfully, it’s wide enough to suffice as a sparring space. She’d made him go inside to change into proper gear. Going inside the cave would cause her to have a breakdown. And when he emerges, too, his eyes are blank for mere seconds, even as he holds a pistol and his sword in the other.

“I won’t need that,” she says, setting the gun down. 

“Then take this,” he says, and tosses a blade into Lauren’s hands. It’s ornate - an epee with a sharp tip, the hilt a dome curling downwards with a grip on the side. “You run out of bullets easily.” He levies the tip of his katana at her.

“I want to see how good you are with a blade.”

**“I haven’t had training,”** she says. 

He quirks an eyebrow up. “Which is why you need my help.”

Wrong thing to say.

“I don’t need anything of yours.”

She attacks first. Kieran’s eyes narrow as he blocks her first two blows easily. Despite it all, her force is weak and her form sloppy. He has the eternal advantage of being trained in his weapon. Which means he will win. Which means he chose this duel so he could outperform her and then talk to her and—

Pride takes over, and Lauren snarls as she attacks faster, harder. 

“The associate from Jum’aa has come back early,” Kieran says, not even breaking a sweat as he parries her blade. Over and over again, metal clashes against metal. “Almost all of the Scythe will greet her tomorrow, including Belladonna. She seems to be quite the popular fellow.”

“And that’s where you’re going to wring information out of her?” pants Lauren, stepping back, twirling the hilt of the épée in her hands.

“Coerce,” he corrects with a small grin, slashing forward. Lauren avoids his blows, barely. 

She hates that grin.

She wants it gone.

She hates him so much.

Lauren topples to the ground, scraping her knees as she gets back up, blade clashing against his. She scrapes her sword against his as they dodge each other’s feints, their duel now becoming less calculated with every move.

“But Davenport’s no innocent seeming associate. Why would Daphne work for her? Could she be lying to her?”

“Plausible. But that’s a task for another day and another time, officer.” She flips mid-air to duck his sword. Her breaths are coming heavier now. Her sleeve has a cut on it. She will not last long.

Kieran takes no joy in this, katana moving with one and only purpose. 

“You need to find her motive.”

“She already has one,” Lauren says, facing him head-on as she swings her epee towards his chest. He blocks her, and she whirls around  _ \- thrust and dodge -  _ and ends up with her blade at his neck. “She’s selfless. Kind. Benevolent. Works as a tea reader and manufacturers special teas for the Red Rose. There’s no black anywhere in her soul.”

“Did you get your fortune read?” He pushes the blade away from his throat, and they back away from each other, circling the clearing like wolves about to pounce. 

“Not yet. I delayed. I don’t need my fortune to know what lies ahead.”

“Which is?”

She points at his chest with her sword. “In the worst case scenario? Ardhalis falling. People joining the Scythe when it reigns. The monarchy gone. My friends in danger. You, if I’m not careful.”

He is wordless as he attacks. 

Lauren’s sword nearly flies out of her hands, but she grips tightly to the hilt as he attacks faster, from the front, her back. 

And suddenly their blades are crossed, noses barely touching. They share the same breath. The wind blows harder out in this section of the forest. She can barely feel the cold in her fingertips. 

Her sword is promptly flung out of her hands.

Lauren grips the hilt of his katana, and before he can react, he’s on the icy forest floor, breathing heavily as she presses the side of it to his throat. 

“I,” he says slowly, “wasn’t trying to get close to your friends.”

“Do you want to explain the lilies?”

He laughs mirthlessly. “Originally for you. But you would’ve killed me if I admitted it out loud. And after what I’m about to say? You’ll definitely kill me where I - well, lie.”

“Spit it out.”

He looks at her, and there is nothing but somber azure in his eyes. 

“You lied when you said you had no training. Your stance is solid, but your moves—”

She presses the blade down.

Kieran gasps for air. Lauren has half a mind to keep pressing down, but she removes the blade by inches, just hovering above his skin. The cut she gave him from her dagger earlier has healed. 

_ “Spit it out.” _

“That day in the cave.” The words come out of his mouth like rushing water out of a broken dam. “I acted out of turn. I shouldn’t have. I broke your trust. I apologize, Lauren. I’ve hurt you. I’ve hurt your trust, but if you allow me to work with you, I’ll do everything I can to make it up to you. Whatever you want.”

She is silent as she continues to hold his own sword to his throat. 

“Whatever I want.”

“Yes.”

Lauren begins to chuckle. She swings her blade to the side, getting off of him. She is still shaking her head when he stands.

“You tried to  _ kill me.  _ Do you understand?  _ You tried to kill me.  _ And here you are, making it seem as if you made a simple mistake. No ‘accidentally killing each other.’ You broke that rule. And then another. Do I need to say it?”

“No.”

“So hear me loud and clear,” she says, sheathing her epee. “We broke all our conditions. So I’m breaking another. Personal questions, Kieran. Anytime and anywhere. What was the reason for this duel?”

The moon is full tonight.

“I wanted to convince you.”

Lauren scoffs.

“Try harder,” she says, handing him her sword. 

As soon as he takes it, she disappears into the thicket within seconds, a wraith in the night, lost to the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'The Maltese Falcon' is a 1941 thriller novel written by Dashiell Hammett. The novel follows detective Sam Spade as he investigates multiple crimes and murders all seemingly connected to a rare, jeweled falcon.
> 
> Daphne is, obviously, named after the forest nymph Daphne in the Greek tale of Daphne and Apollo. I will say this now: her story will not follow the original myth beat by beat. (That doesn't mean the myth means nothing, however.)
> 
> Begonias mean 'beware.' I find them fitting for Lauren.
> 
> And lastly...Lauren and Kieran's relationship. I would say I'm sorry for ripping them further apart than they already are, but you would see bold text if I did, wouldn't you...?


	6. Act 2, Part 6: The Bond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is what you wanted,” he says, looking down at her. “Isn’t it?”
> 
> Lauren’s heart is colder than the freezing winter outside.
> 
>  **“Yes,”** she lies, voice thick and dry. **“Yes, it is.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is the day, foxes.
> 
> Today's the day you all meet Ms. 'I,' and die from the angst I am about to unleash.

_February 8th, XX27_

_You screwed up._

_You screwed everything up._

_Really, I didn’t expect this amount of idiocy from you. You monster. You heartless monster._

_You’ve turned her against you._

____

  
  


Kieran often cannot remember his dreams.

But this one is not a dream, but a memory. 

He walks the hallways of a room all made out of wood, the rafters exposing him to the sun high above, illuminating the plants that hang from the ceiling, that are perched on the floor, everywhere. He is wearing a stiff cotton shirt, striped yellow and navy, and holding a sketchbook in his hands. When he perches himself on a seat next to a hydrangea bush, Kieran sees himself look up towards the heavens, listening to the sound of fountains running from the zen garden outside. 

His hair reaches his nape only. There is clarity in his smile.

There has not been clarity in his smile for seven years.

When he wakes, Kieran doesn’t need to switch on the lights to tread over to his studio. His hands grab for inks and charcoals on their own; they are practiced in the art of darkness by now. All he needs is the desk lamp he carts next to him. 

One line. Two. Three.

It is incomprehensible at first, as all sketches are. But then it forms into something else. Something that resembles an actual _something. Someone._

He sets his inks down. His hands are coated in dark dust.

A glance towards his window shows nothing.

Perhaps he’s just gotten paranoid.

In between the fluttering of papers, eyes stare back at him from the depths of his sketchbook. 

____

Two weeks. Two weeks have passed, and Lauren has hit a wall.

Talking to Beaumont reveals nothing. Kieran’s associate hadn’t shown up to the Scythe's reunion. There is no word on the weapons the Phantom Scythe is manufacturing, either. She paces down the hallway with furious purpose, rage a steady beat in her heart.

Once she’s stripped down her nightgown and underthings, Lauren turns the showerhead on high heat. It hits her skin with the blunt force of a knife, and she lessens the temperature until it creases against her pale skin, steam fogging up the granite walls and windows. Her head is bowed, auburn hair dripping lines of water onto the tiles. 

Her eyes are nothing short of blank gold flats staring down the stream of the shower running down the drain, arms crossed as she leans against the walls.

_“Do you see this one?” Daphne said, pointing to the laurel tree she’d worked with when she had first worked here. “Bay leaves, or laurels. They’re quite helpful. For food, medicine, other uses. I tend to work with arbories quite often, but the Red Rose hired me due to my skills.”_

_“And laurels are your favorite?” Lauren asked, watching as her own blouse swept around her in swaths of white. The greenhouse was humid; there was no need for her coat and scarf. “You said you worked in arbories. Why the switch to tea leaf reading?”_

_“Oh, I was always interested in prophecies and the sort,” Daphne said, waving her hand. “Do you believe in fate, Lauren?”_

_“If it serves me well, maybe.”_

_“Well, we’d all like good things to happen to us,” the blonde said, walking her down an aisle of anemones. The red ones pop out at her like flowers made of blood. “Imagine a world free of suffering.”_

_“You’re quite the idealist, Ms. Beaumont,” said Lauren, chuckling._

_“You could call it that, yes,” she said, giggling softly. “Sure you don’t want your fate yet, Ms. Sinclair?”_

Her fists clench.

_“I fear a less than hopeful outcome.”_

_“What makes you say that?” Daphne said, pouting. “We don’t always know what’s destined for us in the end.”_

_“Again, idealist, Ms. Beaumont.”_

_“Pessimist,” teased the girl. “And call me Daphne. This is your fifth visit. Finding the tea to your liking?”_

_“Yes,” Lauren said, wincing at the thought of the numerous cups of oolong she’d choked down to get here. Sometimes there is such a thing as too much._

Such naivitie. Such glorious innocence. Like a freshly born white rose, untouched by the smoke and rust and death Ardhalis has to offer. This is what the Phantom Scythe has roped in. This is who Belladonna Davenport has convinced. In what way, she still does not know, but perhaps is closer to understanding the girl’s beliefs.

This is a civilian involved in dirty, dirty business. This is someone Kieran was _involved with._

She slams a fist into the wall. 

Protect. The instinct to protect comes first. It’s not quite maternal nor selfless, this instinct to spare the city and its citizens from a gruesome fate, but instead by a sense of duty. No. That’s a lie. Guilt. 

Guilt that has run through her blood for ten years and counting.

The suds are almost out of her hair. 

If she exposed Kieran, it wouldn’t just be a personal victory. It would be a victory for the city. End it all. Take down the Purple Hyacinth, take down the Phantom Scythe. Take down their most prized arsenal, and ruin them for good.

It’s a temptation unlike any other. 

She can’t take up that temptation. Not yet, at least. As much as she’d love too, Kieran is her key. He’ll have to wait. 

She must be the one in control.

Her hands move to turn off the showerhead, and Lauren is uncertain of how long she stays there, arms clasped over her chest, head raised to the ceiling, water running rivulets down her body. 

____

There were several convicts killed during the Tower, and Kym and Will know this. Therefore, there is no information on what could’ve led to a lead on Lune - appearances, voices, whatever the means may be.

However, there is always a coincidence.

The Purple Hyacinth’s kills are getting fewer and fewer these days, but wherever they occur, the leads are connected to Lune in some shape or form. Associates to the Phantom Scythe. Backtalkers of the organization. Before Lune can - or could, in this case - get information to the 11th precinct, the Purple Hyacinth is there. And so, therefore, is the Phantom Scythe.

There’s a reason Eagerton was spared.

There’s a reason Smith and Weaver were killed: both were heavily involved in weapons imports, but were aligned with the monarchy.

There is a reason, therefore, for tracking down George and Hoffman, two men who they have had their eyes on for some time now. 

Will snaps out of his thinking reverie when Kym motions to him over her copy of _Le Journal._ She doesn’t say a word as she motions to the two men getting up from their table across the cafe, placing loose change on the wooden surface as they begin to walk, seemingly chattering away innocently. He gives her a signal after five seconds to get up, and she does, a hand passing over his shoulder as she shrugs on her coat.

A small touch, but it makes something in Will shiver inside. 

Her bronze eyes are completely focused on their two targets as she grips onto the holster of her pistol. They’re both in civilian attire, in disguise, but it’s weird watching her watch away like this. He can’t pinpoint why.

After ten seconds, he gets up, walking over to the next street.

The main square of Ardhalis has many mini alleyways that one can take anywhere, and they’ve chosen this spot because of that. If Kym loses sight of either man, Will can track them down from the other direction. The street he walks down is relatively bare, but gaps in-between buildings give him a clear view of where Kym is. She’s walking next to him, almost, miles away, as she trails the two of them. 

Will tugs on the collar of his coat as she glances at him out of the corner of her eye.

Phase 2.

A car rolls across the street as Kym crosses over to the street where George and Hoffman are. Will follows, and strides over to the street where she was originally. She picks up her pace as they walk towards a darkened alleyway, and Will grows closer to her. Panic laces her gaze, and she motions to him furiously when they disappear behind a corner.

It takes him a minute to sprint over to the other side of the alleyway. When he makes it there, breathing hard, he nearly collides head-on with Kym.

“Watch it,” she hisses.

“Sorry.”

“They went in there,” she says, catching herself apologetically. Dim light filters from the clouds above as Kym points to a low door embedded in the brick walls, noise coming from inside. “It’ll be difficult to find them in there.”

Will’s eyes narrow as he watches people within the cloistered area toss cards in the air, or bet on tables.

“Thank goodness we aren’t in uniform, huh?”

“For once,” he mutters, looming closer to the window. A guard seems to be guarding the entrance from the inside. The gambling den must be password-protected.

“What do you say to a stakeout?”

“I’ll consider it,” she says, stretching her legs. “Just promise me I get to knock out Hoffman when he gets out.”

“Why?”

“I don’t trust him,” she says, voice suddenly a sharp, cold thing. He watches as her hands tighten around the pocketwatch in her pants. “I know we shouldn’t trust either of them. But I dislike him even more.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he says quietly. “And now we wait.”

____

  
  


_“We get our seeds from a company located in the 13th precinct,” Daphne had said, rolling rose petals between her fingers. “Curious, Lauren?”_

“You could say that,” she says, nearly crushing a tree seed in her hands. She’d taken one as a sample when the tea reader hadn’t been looking. It’s engraved with a symbol that looks oddly similar to the ones on McTrevor’s files.

Plants and transactions. Two completely unrelated things that are soon to ruin Ardhalis. But right now, Lauren needs to keep her focus on the roofs above. With no future leads to go off of except the seeds, which she would have to track down using her own resources - one resource, actually, who she didn’t want to contact just yet - she’d decided to go back and look through her and Kieran’s former convicts. And one had stuck out like a sore thumb: Blakesley, who had hired her bodyguards from a service in the 12th precinct. 

A commune with sloping black roofs and rice-paper walls, camellias all around the gardens. Yes, the Carmine Carmellia is most certainly near here, and this must be what it hides, or whatever of the sort, related to the Scythe. Training grounds for their assassins, almost. It certainly explains why Kieran uses a katana.

One of these days, she’ll find out why he’s so attached to the damn thing. 

Smoke trails from one of the roofs. Lauren zeroes in on it.

Her eyes widen when the smell hits her. Rancid, rotten. Something vaguely...sweet. It is disgusting.

The garden doesn’t just host camellias, she realizes. Oleander. Datura. In miniature greenhouses. Others she can’t identify. Below her are workers in white coats, tending to the flowers.

She grips the half of her mask harder as she leaps down from the roofs onto the floors without a sound, one hand on the railing. Below her, koi ponds ripple and stir in the wind, no carp to be seen. The fish are all inside, she supposes.

Lauren has barely taken a step forward when an arrow lands at her foot.

Green coats the tip.

_“There!”_

She runs. The arrows keep coming, and in front of her are rapidly approaching footsteps. Lauren barely has time to leap onto the roof before men in black come scrambling up towards her, all in the same outfits she saw Blakesley’s men in. 

There’s a connection here, between all of it, she just doesn’t know _what_ —

A knife grazes her side, and Lauren dares not reach for her gun as she unsheathes her dagger, colliding into an attacker. They both fall sideways, and she kicks him out from under her as she leaps to the next rooftop, almost near the wall that surrounds the commune.

They’re too close. An arrow hits her shoulder.

She nearly shrieks in pain, but that would give away her identity, and so she continues to run.

The wall is so close.

She hears bodies falling to the ground behind her, and before Lauren can leap off the rooftop, a man’s arm snakes around her waist, and another over her legs.

“Jump,” orders an all-too-familiar voice, and she resists the urge to punch Kieran in the face before they do, making it outside the commune.

They don’t stop running until they’re in an alleyway five blocks away. When they do, he whirls around to face her, blue eyes alight with some emotion she can’t parse, but she’s already limping towards her duffle bag, having snapped the arrow shaft out her shoulder. Blood drips down her clothes, but they’re black, and she’s stored bandages in her supplies. Lauren glares at him as she shears off her own clothing with a knife, wrapping gauze around her bare skin.

“I could help.”

“You’re not going to,” she says, wincing as she tightens the last bandage.

Kieran growls, clenching his teeth. “We’re - never mind. Never mind. Continue being selfish like you usually are.”

“Selfish?!” she sputters, yanking the sleeve of her shirt up. “Would you like to explain what part of what I’m doing, Kieran, is _selfish?!_ ”

“You’ve been keeping information from me,” he says, bending down to meet her gaze. His breath is misty in the cold air. “Haven’t you? Observing places you shouldn’t be observing without telling me.”

“I wasn’t aware we needed to be privy to each other’s thoughts,” she says coldly. “And how does this harm you in any way? You seem to know this place, Kieran. You were there for no reason.”

“No reason,” he repeats, laughing mirthlessly. “Officer, you walked directly into a fox den. A fox den I’ve trained at for seven years. One of Ardhalis’s best kept secrets. Do you want to explain how you got here, or do I have to ask you a thousand times?”

“You don’t ask.” She tosses the hood of the coat she wears over her face. “You threaten. And since I don’t want to be found dead in an alleyway somewhere, with a hyacinth covering my body, I’ll tell you. But let’s see if you can figure it out first.”

Lauren is silent as Kieran watches her coldly, his gaze changing by millimeters.

“You—”

“Don’t leave personal belongings in your house in broad daylight. Much less personal information.”

_“You—”_

“Personal questions,” she says slowly. “Everything goes.”

Kieran’s mouth clamps shut. He looks like a raging god in the darkness, eyes a stormy sea thundering death.

“But the reverse doesn’t apply to you?”

“If you even think about crossing Sinclair Manor, I’ll slit your throat.”

He looks as if the typical comment about her being a hypocrite stings on his tongue, stings with the force of not being said. But he keeps quiet. Lauren knows she’s done terrible things. Perhaps she’s even starting to acknowledge her terrible actions. But that doesn’t mean Kieran has permission to say any of them here.

“I thought so.”

“Wrong. You knew. Now we’re even.”

“I’m meeting the associate today,” Kieran says, and she freezes mid-way through getting up. “And since you’ve discovered nothing on yours—”

Lauren’s mind flits to the seeds. “That isn’t exactly true.”

“Is it?” 

“A company that manufactures the greenhouse’s seeds may be a daughter company of the industry I saw on the files Flemmings had. The same stamp,” she forces herself to admit. “Why today?”

“She,” Kieran says slowly, “wants to meet alone. Why, I have no idea.”

“It seems as if the Purple Hyacinth is needed for his services once more,” Lauren says. “Perhaps you could pass her and another off as Lune.”

“You would be alright with that?”

“If worse comes to worse,” is all she says. “But Lune itself is in danger these days.”

Kieran’s eyes widen by a fraction of a millimeter.

“You’ll fall with me.”

“I don’t have to fall at the same time as you. But not yet. So don’t worry about being outed and the office realizing you’re not some meek archivist.”

She’s silent as she stands, swings the bag onto her right shoulder, the left one still stinging from the wound.

He stands with her, expression unreadable.

“This is what you wanted,” he says, looking down at her. “Isn’t it?”

Lauren’s heart is colder than the freezing winter outside.

**“Yes,”** she lies, voice thick and dry. **“Yes, it is.”**

____

Greychapel is as dreary as ever. Kieran strays from the church on his way to meet his associate, even though it seems to loom over the area like a cloud. There is no snow today, but ice still litters the cobblestones like the bones of winter. His shoes crack the permafrost of the pavement as his black coat sways in the wind.

A set of heels covering daintily covered feet join his steps.

“You certainly have a way of sneaking up on people.”

“And you have a flair for the dramatic.” Kieran keeps walking, his pace slowing only slightly to match hers. “Do you have an interest in me, dear?”

“You could say that. But not for the reason you think.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” he asks exasperatedly, turning around to face her. Kieran immediately feels his blood run cold as he takes in the sight of the woman in front of him. 

She’s dressed in all black, like him. A long coat tied around her waist, with pearls on her neck. Heels that shine in the dim light. A pillbox hat, lace calling over the half of her face that doesn’t have shoulder-length wavy black locks falling over it. Rouged lips, light brown skin, doe eyes. She looks nothing like an associate of the Phantom Scythe. She looks like everything an associate should be.

“Seneschal Illes.”

She smiles sweetly. “So you do know me.”

“It’s impossible to not know you,” he says, not letting his voice give away his shock in the slightest. A bitter smile carves over his face. “The royal family’s right hand. Second cousin to the Aevasthers. You’re quite beloved by the public, Seneschal.”

“You must have a lot of questions,” is all Illes says, smiling softly as she begins walking again. “And call me Alina.”

“Dearest _Alina,_ ” he says, snatching her wrist as he turns her around to face him, smile still plastered on his face. From this distance, they look like a relatively innocent couple walking the streets. Inside, he is panicking. This woman is associated with the Scythe and is _directly in the way of the royal family._ If she knows about Lune, he is done for. If she harms Lauren in any way, he’ll kill her. “Why did you want to meet me alone?”

She sighs. “I know you’re going against the Leader.”

Alina fists her hand over the handle of his sword before he can remove it from its hold.

“Not so fast, Hyacinth.” She cocks an eyebrow. “Would you give me the pleasure of your name, at least? It’s rude to just call you the Purple Hyacinth in my opinion.”

“You have manners, I’ll give you that,” he whispers, as he slides his sword back into his sheath. “But no. I’m afraid I must refuse, Alina.” 

“Fine, have it your way.” She shakes her head. “But I assure you I’m not here to harm you. Your intentions, I’m aware of. Whatever you’ve done, I have no clue.”

“Am I supposed to believe you’re on my side that easily?”

“Polygraphs are always available, sir.”

“So it’s _sir,_ now,” he says, chuckling mirthlessly. “Very well, Seneschal.”

“I want to bring this association down from the inside,” she says, waving a hand. “The Aevasthers purposely made me infiltrate the Scythe’s ranks. And they adore me, as you’ve seen, due to my supposed standing and the benefits for their endgame.”

“The revolution,” he says. “The 17th.”

“One step at a time.”

“Alina Illes, double-edged sword?”

“You should consider changing your flowers,” is all she says, winking at him. “Her Majesty doesn’t like the hyacinths being used so...bloodily.”

“And here I thought we were going to get along.”

“Bring a polygraph,” she says, tossing her hair. “And we’ll see what we can do about the Leader, too.”

“You know the Leader?”

“Don’t be foolish. No one does.” She leans closer to him.

“But I can get you - and from what I am sensing very strongly, a _partner_ \- closer to him.” Alina holds a hand over her heart. The signal of the Royal Guard. 

“A seneschal’s word is law, after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oleander and datura are both poisonous types of flowers. Make of that what you will.
> 
> Daphne, Daphne, Daphne. You and your laurel leaves, which have healing properties. 
> 
> And lastly...so begins the second part of Lauren and Kieran's odd and very will-they won't-they enemies relationship, but not quite. You'll definitely see more of this in the future, a dynamic I'm excited to write. But not for long. You'll see what I mean....
> 
> ALINA. ONE OF MY FAVORITE CHARACTERS TO GRACE CITIES UNDER CROWNS. Double-crosser...or ally to Lune? Vote now on your phones. There might be something fishy going on here. Or not. Tee hee.


	7. Act 2, Part 7: The Warrior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It unnerves her. The sight of a killer with a charcoal pen in his hands instead of a sword, creating instead of destroying. Giving life instead of taking it. A duality that speaks to her own. She rakes a hand through her hair. Maybe she really is a hypocrite, seeing herself in him but never acknowledging it. But now, when she has already taken one step off the abyss, and he has taken one step back from it, she is beginning to see it clearly. 
> 
> He may be terrible with sincerity when it comes down to it, but his actions are clearly an invitation, hopeless as they may be: _trust me, please, I won’t hurt you, I’m sorry._
> 
> And if she does, Lauren doesn’t know where to go from here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update fresh off the press, foxes. Enjoy the copious amount of fluff in this chapter - the most fluff you're going to get for a while. I'm still keeping good on my Angst to the Fifth Degree promise. I apologize in advance. But for now: feast.

_January 15th, XX27_

_They’re closing in on us._

_I know we don’t have much time. It’s only a matter of time before they find out what we’re doing from both sides of the law. It’s been seven years, and yet, memories of a chair and chains and a dead man hanging from a church chandelier never seem to leave my mind._

_I have not felt this afraid in years._

_But some things stick with you, I suppose._

____

Lauren wakes up late.

This is something new for her, because she usually spends sleepless nights and even worse sleepless days. But this time, she supposes, her body has purposely shut down - the equivalent of her brain screaming at her _slow down moron, I am going to die -_ and made her rest for a record six hours. It beats her usual three. But the dark circles under her eyes have taken up permanent residence, and no amount of makeup can change that. She doesn’t bother putting on any as she dresses into her uniform in record time, shoving her ragged hair into a bun, practically running out of the house faster than a car zipping down Main Street. 

Kym is the first to notice.

The flowers in her hands don’t help either.

“Your ex keeps giving the entire office flowers, because he won’t stop apologizing for whatever jerkass move he did,” she says, a strange look in her eyes. “I think you need to stop working too hard, too.”

“Why?”

“Because,” she says, raising an eyebrow, “I can’t see what else would suck all the life out of you and make you look like a corpse walking around with a one dollar auburn wig. Besides Kieran White. Stop it, Lauren.”

“I don’t see the problem here,” she croaks out. Some people are staring. The office is crowded with pink carnations, bluebells, and primroses. 

“Do I need to - oh, never mind,” Kym says, pinching the brow of her nose. “You look like crap.”

“I don’t—”

“Well, for one, stop obsessing over a stupid archivist who keeps apologizing in really weird ways, and two, what did you have for breakfast this morning?”

**“I had pancakes.”**

_“A single blueberry does not count!”_ she screams, causing Will to halt mid-way through putting sugars into their coffees. Kym glares at him, and he switches out coffee for hot water at the speed of light. She shoves one in Lauren’s face. 

“I,” she says, hands shaking, “will force feed you like a duck if I have to.”

“I won’t - that - isn’t necessary,” squeaks out Lauren. 

“Good.” There is fire in her glare. “Now go downstairs to _Le Quotidien,_ pick out a pastry, and _eat._ I’ll cover your paperwork.”

“No need for that.”

The familiar voice makes her freeze, and she and Kym turn around to see Kieran holding up a wrapped bag that smells like cherries and vanilla. “Made cheesecake yesterday,” he explains, clearly nervous in the presence of a murderous sergeant and an equally murderous ex-partner. He plays the meek type well, she admits, but perhaps some of it isn’t all an act. “You could take it. I was going to bring it as an all-nighter snack, but—”

“Thank you, sir archivist,” Kym says, and what she does next makes Lauren’s eyes widen in horror. She cuffs him over the head, ruffling his perfectly combed hair. He doesn’t move a muscle as she boops his nose, signature grin half-covering her face. “At least you’re an asshole with baking skills.”

“She looked like she needed it. That’s all.”

Oh, how Lauren would wring the _hell_ out of him verbally if they weren’t surrounded by Will and a surrounding office—

“Huh.” There is something pensive in Kym’s eyes. “So you do care.”

She makes herself walk. One step. Two steps.

“I do.”

Not a lie.

Lauren takes a long swig from the cup of boiling water in her hands, even as it scalds her tongue.

  
  


____

“From the ashes, a phoenix rises,” recites Will, sparing a glance over at Kym as she holds up the slip of paper the woman had held in her coat pocket, laying her beside the man they’d knocked unconscious on their way to the den. “And from the ashes of blood spilled, so will the revolution.”

“Two weeks, brother and sister,” rasps a voice. “In.”

The door creaks open, and Will tips his hat, gesturing to Kym to follow him. 

The inside is far larger than they’d perceived the miniature casino to be: raucous and loud with sloping walls and ceilings, crimson everywhere with chandeliers topping the whole affair. Alcohol distributed in a corner to their right; tables for pool and cards littering the way beyond. 

She zeroes in on Hoffman from miles away, and her fists clench on impulse.

The pocketwatch burns in her dress pocket. 

“Did you have to choose a dress with pockets?” he hisses in her ear as she loops an arm around his, pretending to laugh at a non-existent joke. “It’s easier to steal things.”

“I know you wanted to see more of my legs, Williame, but keep it down.”

He stutters, turning a lovely pink. 

“What?” she simpers, batting her eyelashes at him. “We’re a couple, aren’t we? It’s not exactly a secret you like—”

_“LADELL.”_

They’d taken the place of Mr. and Mrs. Candreva, two Phantom Scythe affiliates, in order to come here. She’d seen the coins in their pockets - engraved with the Scythe’s symbol - and instantly knew that she and Will were getting into, although she’d had her suspicions before. Now, this only confirmed both men they were tracking were both involved with Eagerton and the Scythe. And, if they were lucky, had knowledge on the Purple Hyacinth and Lune both.

If she doesn’t instantly break down at the sight of Hoffman, conglomerate to Honolulu Company. Because he looks like an older version of _him,_ before he was marred and went up in a blaze of brilliant fire.

“Kym,” Will whispers. “Hey. Don’t you dare get distracted.”

“I’m not,” she says, scowling as she nudges him. “Let’s just go.”

“You were distracted, so don’t be.”

“Oh, you want to have a lover’s quarrel in front of all these people?”

Will sighs, but his blue eyes scour the field. Kym takes in the sight of him while he does: he matches her, dressed in a three-piece tux in black and white with a bowtie, to offset her sapphire blue gown. Gold dangles from her lobes as she nudges him, coming to the same realization as him. 

Tensions are already flaring between them, anyway, per usual. It would be the perfect opportunity to split up and search the area for anything suspicious.

“I’m not your little _pet,_ Candreva,” she snaps, so loudly that the waiter next to them yells as a tray of champagne tumbles onto the ground. She tilts her chin up at Will as she pokes his chest, hard, teeth clenched. “So don’t you go and tell me what I am, alright? You’re not some commanding officer.”

The last part is said with a smirk, and she watches with glee as a vein pops on his forehead. “You may not think I know you, _Candreva,_ but I do. Even though our marriage is falling apart!” 

“Why do you even care?! You detest me, for goodness’ sakes! The only reason you and I are even married is because your father thought I’d be a good asset to your company,” she says, tossing her hair aside for good measure.

“You know that’s not true.”

“So?!”

“So stop pretending like everything’s fine, _idiot!_ ” Will ignores the shock of three women passing by. “It’s infuriating and frustrating for everyone around you.”

Rage surges through her veins. They are no longer pretending.

“Oh, you think I’m pretending?!” she says bitterly. “Well, how about this? You just want to solve me. Solve my problems because you can’t possibly solve - much less handle - everything wrong with your life. You always say you’ll handle it. _You can’t handle sh_ —”

He snatches her wrist. 

She has crossed the line.

“Then you’re no better than me,” he whispers darkly. 

Kym opens her mouth to apologize, but he’s already walking away. She sweeps her hair to the side, willing the blood to cool from her cheeks. He won’t leave her like this. He can’t. They’ll meet up at some point.

A hand lands on her shoulder, and she freezes up.

“Quite the show there with your husband,” laughs a young voice, around her age, and Kym slowly turns around to see Hoffman there, sapphire hair slicked back, eyes twinkling with mirth. “Difficulties?”

“You could say that,” she manages, hand so tight around the watch in her gown she thinks it might break.

_You’re him. You’re him._

“Mathlide Candreva,” she says, tipping her head down. “Nice to meet you.”

____

Lauren turns the card over and over in her hands. In a beige trenchcoat and white blouse, hair slightly neater this time around, she doesn’t look like the type to frequent The Blackfriar often, but this is where her contact said he’d meet up with her. A contact she hasn’t called in a year, and why he’s agreeing to meet with her is beyond her. 

It isn’t as if this is going to be terribly awkward and all - they worked together as detectives - but going radio silent after Sake’s case is something of suspicion, and she doesn’t know what in the stars above she’ll tell him now, agreeing to meet a year later without explanation. But he knows her goal - taking down the Scythe - and has probably marked it down as some personal vendetta aligning with their own goal.

Oh, if only they all knew the whole truth.

She watches as a man exits the large doors of The Blackfriar, passing by the two large copper lions guarding the door, jaws wide open as to swallow the world whole. Cropped black hair, hat tipped down. A cigar tossed to the ground.

“Eliot Choi,” she calls out. “It’s been a while.”

“A year, to be precise,” he says, walking over to her. “Why now?”

“The case I’m working on is...unofficial,” she says lightly. “I was wondering if you could help me out.”

“You want me to be your rat.”

“Not quite,” she says, holding up her hands. “I’d help you too.”

“You can just admit you want an informant, Sinclair,” he drawls. “It’s not that difficult to ask for help.”

“You’d be surprised.” She holds up a printed seal. A scan of the logo on Daphne’s seeds. “Could you find out where these come from? I think there may be a connection between this organization and the Phantom Scythe.”

“You were always one of our hardest-working detectives,” Eliot says, sighing as he takes the photocopy of the seal. “Doesn’t surprise me you’re investigating even now.”

“Old habits die hard,” she admits.

“I can see that,” he says, smirking. “I don’t need anything in return. Well, just one thing.”

“Which is?”

“To not lie directly to my face,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “If this is for a personal agenda, I won’t ask questions, either. We all have our secrets.”

“Even you?”

“All of us.”

Lauren shakes her head. “Everything’s personal these days. I’ll see you in two, Eliot.”

____

The bluebells, carnations, and primroses have been removed due to a request from the local florist to stop bombarding the police department with flowers. Lauren is thankful for the lessened eyesore, but a part of her feels slightly empty when she only sees anemones and lilies waving back at her from around the station.

When she next visits the archives, she passes quickly by a Kieran with his back turned, grabbing a stack of files on top metal cases. Her fingers trail over anemone petals as she turns around to leave without a noise except for the door slamming shut and—

A floorboard creaks under her boots.

He turns around to see her staring evenly at him.

“Yes?”

“I’ll see if the contractors can check the floors,” is all she says, breaking eye contact with him as she starts for the door. “Don’t mind me.”

“I know who my associate is. And I highly doubt you won’t want to not hear this.”

She turns around, one hand in her pocket. “Who?”

Kieran looks around. There is no one, and Lauren frowns when he goes to shut the door, locking it as he snaps the blinds shut.

“Scandalous, assassin.”

“You’re more likely to kill me than you are to kiss me,” he says, mouth twitching upwards bitterly. “Seneschal Illes is working for the Phantom Scythe.”

Lauren can do nothing except stare in shock. “The Sword of the Crown? Sir Illes’ daughter?! _Her,_ working for the Scythe?”

“She said she was on my - well, our side. I don’t think she was lying.”

“She clearly was,” Lauren says, grasping at her forehead. “You can’t possibly trust her. This means annihilation for us all. If the Phantom Scythe is that close to the monarchy, they’ve got a kill at the ready. They’re about to strike at the heart of the city. The country, even.”

“Then meet with her. If she isn’t? She can get us closer to the Leader. He favors her and I for clear reasons.”

“Two murderers in a pod, I suspect.” It should come out as a retort, but at this point, stress has formed a thick layer of exhaustion over her shoulders, and all she wants to do right now is go home and pass out - at twelve in the afternoon. So it comes out weak, vulnerable, a low blow. 

“I don’t deny the truth, Lauren.”

“So you’re saying I do?”

“I’m saying you shouldn’t trust others just because they don’t lie to you. But the seneschal - she could be an ally. All you’d have to do is meet her.”

“Like that would be easy,” she says, poison lacing her voice. “In secret, already suspicious. In public? Would you like me to get an audience next with the queen?”

“She would think of something,” Kieran says, mischief in his eyes. “I can play her game for as long as I don’t fully trust her.”

Lauren sighs. “Fine.”

“You’re agreeing to this?”

“I don’t have a better plan. And if she can get us to the Leader, an added bonus.” She slumps against the wall.

“I know you don’t trust me one bit, officer. But I’m not your enemy.”

“You’re not my ally.”

“You’ve made that very clear.” It is he who starts to leave first, gathering up his things. Kieran looks back at her as he opens the door, coat slung over his shoulders. “I really did miss our little chats. Thank you for today.”

The door slams shut.

Lauren is left breathless as always. 

The anger fizzles out quicker than it did before.

____

  
  


“She’s been waiting for you,” says the nurse, handing him his badge and ID back. “Fourth room on your left. We moved her due to her condition a while back. Welcome back, Mr. Hawkes.”

“Thanks,” he says, walking down the halls of the care center. The smell of decayed and dead flowers never leaves his nose whenever he comes here. Even after he washes his clothes. The fourth room on the right is a large suite with glass walls, and through it, he spots a woman with blonde, almost white hair, sitting motionless on her bed, staring at nothing. 

The piano sits next to her, untouched, slightly dusty from the last time he came to visit. The pages on the sheet music book are bent and crinkled from use. Will enters silently, looking at the notes that glance up at him. 

_Liebesleid,_ reads the title he last played. _Love’s Sorrow._

“Hey, Mama,” he says weakly, putting down the wreath of red roses he’d been carrying. “I’m back.”

“Will?” she asks, turning towards him. Julia Hawkes raises a hand towards her son, and he rapidly crouches down next to the down-feather bed, her weathered hand caressing his cheek. “Will, you came back.”

“I always come every week,” he teases gently. “You know that.”

“Ah, but I missed you so.”

“I know.” He squeezes her hand. “I can stay longer this time. Which song do you want?”

“The one you always used to play,” she says, hacking out a laugh. “When you were younger. Do you remember, my Will?”

“Of course I do.”

_Love’s Sorrow._

Will turns the page over to cover _Liebesleid_ and to reveal the sheet music for _Clair de Lune._ Simple and sweet, like a lullaby. One of the first melodies he had been taught. Sometimes he plays it alone in his living room, but the feeling associated with it is too much to bear at times. Too many memories. Memories of seeing his mother fall ill in the middle of the song and never coming home again.

His hands hover over the keys. He knows this song by heart. There’s no need for the sheet music.

But as the thread of his life unravels one by one, the notes anchor him to the ground for now, keeping from drowning in the fog and snow and ash of a burial that he knows will come eventually.

And so he plays.

____

He hasn’t noticed her watching him yet. She wonders why. They’re the last ones in the office to be around, and yet, he hasn’t sensed her presence. Or rather, he’s ignoring it. Something about the whole ordeal aggravates her. Lauren had taken care to avoid the creaky floorboards outside the archives, which meant that she wouldn’t be heard this time around, but still feels a sense of nervousness as she watches Kieran work.

Well, not work. He’s sketching something; she can’t see what. 

It unnerves her. The sight of a killer with a charcoal pen in his hands instead of a sword, creating instead of destroying. Giving life instead of taking it. A duality that speaks to her own. She rakes a hand through her hair. Maybe she really is a hypocrite, seeing herself in him but never acknowledging it. But now, when she has already taken one step off the abyss, and he has taken one step back from it, she is beginning to see it clearly. 

He may be terrible with sincerity when it comes down to it, but his actions are clearly an invitation, hopeless as they may be: _trust me, please, I won’t hurt you, I’m sorry._

And if she does, Lauren doesn’t know where to go from here.

What are they, now? Forever stuck in the in-between where _enemy_ and _ally_ are. She has to keep him at bay. Because if she doesn’t, they cross forward, out of where the gray is, and she can’t deal with that. A partnership built on walking on eggshells and half-formed trust. It will be no different than their former partnership born out of suspicion and secrecy. Cold to the bone, a base and simple deal at best. Even though now all their rules have been broken.

If they expose their hearts to one another, this could all go wrong. 

He finishes up the sketch, and Lauren watches intently as he holds it up to the light. It’s a drawing of the archives at night, the thing shaded to make it look like a dark night. The flowers are in neat rows, a near replica of the bouquets around the office. It is empty, desolate.

She hides behind the wall as he turns around to stand and get his coat, heart banging in her chest. Lauren forces her feet to move as she hears his footsteps nearing the door.

“Lauren.”

She curses under her breath. 

Panic creeps into her veins as she turns around to face him. But Kieran is wordless. His glasses are tucked into the collar of his shirt - which has been unbuttoned at the top - and a lily rests in his hand. 

For once, Lauren does not flinch as he sweeps back a strand of her hair, tucking the flower into her hair. His fingers are stained with charcoal and ink. His skin is callused like her own. 

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” she says numbly, swallowing as he leaves, shoulder brushing against her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bluebells, carnations, and primroses all signify, to some degree, a variant of an apology.
> 
> The Blackfriar is an actual historic bar in London, although it certainly doesn't have the lions at its doors.
> 
> There is a reason why Love's Sorrow is a song Will knows well, but I'm certain you all can guess why.
> 
> And lastly, Lauren/Kieran fluff (not really) and Kym/Will angst?! Role reversal in my country?! It's more likely than you think.


	8. Act 2, Part 8: The Defender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kieran blinks in surprise, but sighs to her own shock, shaking his head as he looks down at the floor. She hasn’t heard him laugh in ages, and when he does, it’s a soft one, this one full of mirth. She continues to stand her ground even though she feels like coming apart. Her hands itch for a trigger.
> 
> “You don’t need to ask me for a favor.”
> 
> “Why?”
> 
> He cocks his head to the side. “There are many things I’d do for you, officer. All you have to do is ask.”
> 
> She can only blink in the face of his honesty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update day! I'll see you all on the other side.
> 
> (Don't kill me yet. Promise. You'll understand why by the end of this chapter.)

_February 9th, XX27_

_She didn’t flinch. She didn’t back away, or do any of those things. It’s a start._

_And her friends seem to not dislike me as much, which is good._

_But it’s all odd. Strange. The entire affair. Pretending to be a normal man by daylight, shifting into a monster at night. Although one of us shows her fangs during both light and dark hours. I’m starting to admire those fangs. Such vitriol. More bitter and vicious than mine. It’s a wonder the Scythe didn’t take her that day instead._

_I just have to not get wrapped up in all of this. Two weeks. On the 17th, it all ends for good._

_I don’t want to get trapped in a web of my own making._

_To do so would be certain death._

_____

  
  


He paces the hallways of the cave, wrapping bindings around his knuckles. Kieran can wander the cave freely now without nearly suffocating from stepping with one foot out the mouth of the darkness, which is some progress. The weapons racks are dusty, though, and so are the punching bags in the corner, plastic all crinkled in spots where he’d hit it. Reflexively, his hands tug on the strings dangling from the top of his gray sweatshirt, the moisture in the air sending perspiration down his tan skin.

His fist collides with plastic, over and over again.

Calculated, removed, cold, as it has always been.

And yet, Kieran knows it is anything but. His mind is anything but clear as he gathers his weight into a crescent kick, a sideways throw, an uppercut.

The crystals on the ceiling sparkle emerald in the light, water dripping off the ends of rock formations. 

It brings back the worst memories, being alone. Waves of guilt in front of his eyes as he remembers a scene played out only five days prior: when he’d been walking into one of the corridors and a nimble hand had shoved him into the wall, knife at his throat. Golden eyes shining out of the darkness.

The worst part was that he had relaxed. He had let her whisper, let her slide metal over his skin like a lover’s caress. The language of knives and swords and guns was one they spoke intimately now, and he couldn’t bear looking at her as she claimed the cave for her own, refusing his own gaze as they parted ways: a clear signal that their hate and anger had died down, but certainly not their distrust. Kieran slams a fist into the bag as another memory hits him - the memory of her walking away with an anemone tied into the ponytail of her hair.

Maybe it’s better this way, their separation. Their deal. He won’t risk getting tangled in his own vice.

His knuckles are almost bloody. Kieran blinks down at his hands, sighing as he retreats from the object of his anger, pulling his sweatshirt off in one neat tug. The bruises on his abdomen have recovered nicely from their rooftop escape earlier, but the scars on his back still remain. Miles and miles of rugged terrain, shining gold. With every mark, a reminder. Every bruise, a memory. 

The fog in his head has not cleared for seven years of his own choosing.

____

She hasn’t spoken for an entire length of five minutes.

Lauren can sense him waiting for her. The shuffling of papers and her own foot tapping against the ground fill the void between them. 

_“Leonard Fabien,” Hermann had announced to the entire patrol unit, “was investigated this morning by Detective March and several other members of the investigative unit, and found guilty of embezzling funds to a shell company under the larger Honolulu Company. We will proceed, with a warrant, to search and conduct a seize and desist order in order to arrest this criminal.”_

_“Was he a part of the Scythe?” Kym asked, clearly curious._

_“Not quite,” he’d said, a bitter twitch of his lips making Lauren uneasy. “An affiliate to them. And a Lune target.”_

It hadn’t taken a genius to figure out why Hermann was so adamant on catching Fabien. Adamant about catching both of them. For once, Kym and Will hadn’t given her odd looks as she rushed down to the archives, seeing as they were oddly distant and silent with each other for once. She made a reminder to ask one of them what had transpired later.

But now, she waits, dreading the moment she has to pounce and demand Kieran’s help. But somehow, threats at this moment in time don’t seem fitting. Maybe it’s because rage enters her body and makes her run unlimited, infinite, forever. But when it leaves, it leaves a ghost of her behind, exhausted and on the verge of tears. 

Although she will never admit that. It’s exhausting. 

She opens her mouth and closes it as Kieran walks next to her, shuffling through the archives, nimble fingers scouring the files.

“He’s after us,” is what comes out of her mouth, thankfully, instead of _I need your help, because I don’t know what else to do._

“He’s focusing on Fabien too much instead of the larger picture at hand,” snorts Kieran.

“You have new intel?”

“Illes told me as much. And so has your associate,” he says knowingly, nodding her way. “But don’t worry. If worst comes to worst, we can keep that old boss of yours running circles around his own drooping tail.”

Lauren swallows down a laugh. A small smile crosses her face. “Sure.” It fades away quickly, and she doesn’t catch the flickering expression on Kieran’s face for only a second. Here goes nothing.

“I…” She trails off as he leans against the metal cases, staring her down. She meets his own gaze with hers, refusing to back down even as discomfort seeps into her bones. 

He remains silent even as she doesn’t speak, waiting for her to advance.

“A favor,” she says, head snapping up. Lauren’s stubbornness kicks in as a last resort, and she faces him head-on, fists clenched in the pockets of her pants. “Whatever it is you need, I’ll provide after you do me a favor.”

Kieran blinks in surprise, but sighs to her own shock, shaking his head as he looks down at the floor. She hasn’t heard him laugh in ages, and when he does, it’s a soft one, this one full of mirth. She continues to stand her ground even though she feels like coming apart. Her hands itch for a trigger.

“You don’t need to ask me for a _favor._ ”

“Why?”

He cocks his head to the side. “There are many things I’d do for you, officer. All you have to do is ask.”

She can only blink in the face of his honesty. 

“Then help me reach Fabien before they do,” she says, not trusting herself to not say something else that might end up being incredibly stupid. “I can scout out his residence. Don’t bring your sword; I’ll loan you a gun. We’re supposed to be dead, so we’ll take all the precautions we can.”

“Civilian clothing,” he says. “I shouldn’t meet you there directly. The others would realize my identity as soon as they saw me. Let me scout the place first. You need to get there sooner.”

Lauren surprises herself by agreeing to it all.

“Then it’s settled,” he says, unblinking.

“It’s settled,” she agrees, turning on her heel, walking out of the archives. This time, she doesn’t slam the door shut, but rather leans against the wall once she sees no one else in the hallway, raking a hand through her hair.

_“You can’t make me a better man,” Kieran had once taunted her in a nightmare, wrapping his hands around her neck. Hyacinths had surrounded both of them, perfume nearly suffocating her twice as quickly._

_“And you might make me a monster,” she had breathed out before waking._

Her hands hover over the healed bruises on her neck.

She hasn’t forgiven him. Maybe she’ll never forgive him. But to summon the anger that had once filled her to the brim is now nearly impossible.

It scares her beyond belief.

____

  
  


Lauren tugs the mask over the lower half of her face. With her officer uniform on, she looks relatively normal - however, easier to spot in the evening. Fabien’s house resembles Grayson’s, almost, with easy access windows and multi-story floors. A pistol resides in her pocket, and when she hears footsteps creeping up behind her, hands the second to her raven-haired counterpart. 

Kieran takes the hilt of it gingerly in his hands, tossing it over and over. It’s odd seeing him without glasses now, in his normal attire. But she’s adjusted to his sudden changes in appearance by now. They’re no different from hers.

“You know how to shoot?”

“Don’t be silly, officer. Of course I do.”

“Then don’t hesitate,” she says, and without hesitation, lifts her gloved hand up to curl her fingers around his own, adjusting the hold on the trigger. 

“I don’t hesitate.”

“You don’t show it, darling.” The nickname is oddly comfortable on her lips. Lauren won’t admit she has a penchant for keeping him under her heel. Or admit that she likes it, either. 

He shakes his head, sighing. “There are guards around the house. We can’t pass through unless we sneak past them. The roof would be an ideal access point, but they could spot us.”

“Your plan?”

A bullet hits the wall in front of them.

“No need for one,” Kieran hisses, as they both raise their pistols.

____

“This one is defunct,” trills Belladonna, holding up a green vial in her hands. “The effects are near to none. Nothing like what we are looking for at all. We can hardly use this on a hundred test subjects, much less thousands.”

“Understood, Miss Davenport.” The dark-haired woman in a lab coat tips her head down, gesturing to the row of women and men in identical coats with gloves hands all busied with one task or another in the dimly-lit lab: carting samples, picking out roots or flowers. “We promise the second batch will come in weeks, and manufactured here as soon as possible.”

“Beaubonne’s shipments come on time,” she says, inspecting the lab. Her pink hair is tied up in a ponytail, her outfit a glittering black. “We’ve delayed several other companies’ shipments for quite a while. If this batch isn’t finished up on time, the Phantom Scythe won’t be very happy.”

“Understood. We promise everything will be on schedule.”

“Good riddance,” she says, sighing. Her eyes dart up and down across the three people in the corner in all white, some with discolored faces or twitchy limbs. “Still recovering?”

“Barely. The effects aren’t quite known to us yet. An antidote is still in the works.”

Her eyes land on a blonde woman in the back, hair in a bun. A mask covers her mouth, and she pipets a thin stream of liquid into a vial, gloved hands curling around the equipment. 

Belladonna smiles at the woman, heels clicking on the floor as she strides over to the scientist, inspecting what she’s been doing all this while. Laurel leaves are in a container next to several flowers: datura, oleander, and lastly—

“Nightshade,” Belladonna says as she lifts a sprig of the flower in her gloved hands, twirling the blossoms around. “My favorite.”

The scientist blinks up at her. “My apologies. I didn’t expect you to be here so soon.”

“Daphne Beaumont,” she says, smiling widely. “We meet again.”

“I am still working on developing an antidote.”

“So these have all been perfected?!” snaps Belladonna. “You’re the head, Daphne. I did not hire you to be the heart.”

She bows her head. “I’m sorry, Bella.”

“Daphne, Daphne,” says the woman, sighing as she lifts her sheathed shortsword in the air. “I hired you because of your talent. I can trust in that, can’t I? Otherwise, you don’t get what you need. And I don’t get what I need. I wouldn’t want either of us to be unhappy.”

“I know,” whispers Daphne, green eyes looking anywhere but at Belladonna.

“Start again,” she orders, putting the nightshade down. “And stop making the antidote. I don’t want them to recover.”

When the assassin leaves, Daphne grits her teeth, snapping her fingers to gather the attention of the room. 

“Everyone,” she commands through her mask, eyes piercing the gloomy veil of the room; determination carving her into something vicious, something wholly different. “It’s time to begin our final batch.”

____

  
  


They run as one.

Lauren remembers this, almost. It’s familiar to her, the sounds of men running after them, this time with guns instead of swords, from roof to roof in the sunset instead of the night. In different clothing and definitely not masked. 

The difference lies in Kieran holding onto her hand as they run, never letting go. As if once he lets go, he’ll lose her forever. 

But it is the heat of an impending battle, and so Lauren lets him. 

One bullet, two, three. She’s nearly out of ammo. They reach Fabien’s roof, and crash through a window, landing in a heap. Lauren doesn’t spot Kieran beside her as she ducks behind an alcove as gunfire resounds behind them, blasting the furniture off the walls, feathers and wood erupting everywhere like some miniature storm has come alive within the house.

Police sirens sound below. Her eyes snap open.

“Get out!” she hisses to her partner, currently behind another bookshelf, pistol tight in his hand.

“Don’t be stupid—”

“They’ll catch you!” Lauren shrieks as another bullet ricochets into the house. “You need to leave now. I’ll get what we need and get out.”

She knows. She knows that she shouldn’t be using the plural _we_ and isn’t using _I_ for a reason she doesn’t want to bother figuring out. She knows the way Kieran looks at her is the same way she used to look at him when their partnership was still intact: with a mix of fascination and revulsion, trying to constantly puzzle out the mystery of why he hadn’t let her burn. Now he looks at her without looking away, trying to figure out why she isn’t leaving him to die, when this is what she supposedly wanted all along. 

Or perhaps this is the worst case scenario in which all she knew has been a lie all this time.

Kieran and her lock eyes for only a second before he darts for the stairs, gone in a flash, without a single trace.

When he does, Lauren releases a long-held breath, and finally allows herself to wince at the wound on her abdomen.

_“Ladell, Randall, to me! The rest of you, disable the guards!”_

“Will,” Lauren whispers under her breath. She struggles to get up, clutching at her side as she strikes down the next two snipers aiming through the window, glass crashing onto the floor. Fabien must be outside or escaped by now; there’s no way he didn’t hear the scuffle going on in his attic.

Footsteps crash on the wooden steps, and Lauren has half a mind to think it Kieran, before her disappointment fizzles out into relief at the sight of Kym, white mask covering her eyes.

“You’re wounded,” she chokes out, before looping an arm around her waist, pulling her up.

“It’s a graze,” she hisses, hand covering the scrape on her skin. “Trust me. I’m not seriously wounded like last time.”

“You’d better not be. I’ll kill the Purple Hyacinth the next time I lay eyes on him,” she says, gun in one hand and Lauren’s weight in the other. They make their way down the steps, the sergeant inspecting their surroundings. “Fabien’s gone.”

“I know that.”

“And here I was wondering why you were absent from the patrol unit,” she says, sighing. “Is it possible for you not to go charging into danger without us?”

Kym doesn’t suspect anything wrong, thank goodness. “Maybe.”

Suddenly, she freezes, one foot in the air, about to descend onto the bottom step.

“Kym?”

“He didn’t show up at all,” she says slowly, eyes blank. “Because he wasn’t here to begin with.”

Lauren’s nails dig into the palm of her flesh.

“We’re—”

“A trap,” she mutters bitterly under her breath. “We were led into a trap. Lauren, the office is nearly empty. Defenseless. The archives.”

Panic overtakes her like a tidal wave.

Screaming echoes from blocks away, smoke rising in the air. 

Kym curses under her breath. “Will!”

“I know, I know,” the lieutenant says, clearly in shock. “We need to get back! Lauren - are you okay?”

She shakes it off, squirming out of Kym’s grasp as the police cars begin their way back to the office, officers running at full speed with their pistols raised. Lauren ignores their shouts as she dons her own white mask, checking the number of bullets she has in her gun as she runs towards the office.

There it is, the instinct to protect everything when there is nothing left.

____

It is chaos.

Their remaining forces have been slaughtered, blood coating the walls like a spill of red paint. Crushed lilies and anemones in the wreckage, brick and mortar and wood. A garden on fire. Files gone up in flames, papers stolen, the innocent fled and some clinging to bare life. Half of the first and second floors bombed, on fire. The archives set ablaze, disturbed. It reminds her of Allendale too much for her own comfort. Like Allendale, the urge to break down and sob until her heart aches almost overtakes her body.

There is screaming. Guns firing in the chaos. Lauren remembers what it was like to first take life at the hands of her gun, with no choice left. She’d remembered the scene for two weeks, waking up with the smell of blood and pavement in her nose.

She doesn’t know whether or not it’s a good thing that when she takes down two assassins in front of her, the blood that lands on her doesn’t make her flinch.

The sirens are growing louder. She can hear Kym and Will’s voices, but they are distorted, coming from underwater, muffled. 

There is nothing but annihilation and her, the helm of it, striking with a trigger in her hands.

A voice brings her back from all of it.

“You.”

A shriek. Lauren turns around too late to see Kym falling to the ground, blood seeping from her lower thigh. Will’s blue eyes glint with madness as he fires, mouth curled in a snarl as he clutches her in his arms.

Lauren doesn’t think as she rushes over to protect both of them, stealing a dagger and a gun from the nearest dead body. 

_“Lauren!”_

It’s Kym. Lauren hovers in front of both her and Will, and the next few actions play out slowly before her, time dragged through honey. Her two friends, on the ground, wounded, mouths open, shouting her name, trying to drag her back from the dark.

A bullet, round and golden and metallic—

A fleeting second as she watches it aim for Kym’s chest, numbly understanding that this is the time and place where she must die for another—

A voice, neither Kym nor Will’s, and someone running towards her, _for her_ —

All she can do is watch.

All she can do is watch as Kieran White saves one of his sworn enemies from death, colliding headfirst with the cobblestones. Blood blooms on his chest like a radiant anemone. Lauren is in too much shock to register the crack of his glasses on the ground, the unraveling of his hair ribbon. Kym is now unconscious from the shock. Will is screaming her name. 

Lauren registers later the screaming of Kieran’s name is coming from her.

_“You idiot,”_ she breathes, running over and falling to her knees next to him, hands pressing on the wound. The sirens are nearer. The blood is not stopping. She is shaking. _“You idiot, bastard, moron, why, tell me why_ — _?!”_

“Told you,” he coughs out, deadly serious. Kieran should never be serious. This isn’t him. This isn’t him at all. She can’t have this version of events play out again, ten years later, with different people, with one friend, one enemy, and her life going up in flames before her eyes. “I told you. All you had to do was ask.”

“I didn’t ask,” she yells. “Why. _Why?!_ ”

He grips her hand. It is stained with red. And Lauren lets him, lets him draw her near him, their foreheads touching, his fingers sliding into the spaces where hers are. They share this space, this echo, where life and death meet at the crossroads of their hearts, beating as one. 

“You should live,” he croaks out weakly. Kieran is fading fast. The paramedics are here. “I can’t bear making you a monster, too. For so long, Lauren. I hurt you, I hurt others. I was the monster. Do you understand, darling?” He coughs out blood, and her heart breaks. “Darling, you were the only one who didn’t believe that I was, and I broke it all. I broke you. And I am so, so sorry. But you can take them down on your own - you’re more than I ever was,” he says, laughing softly. “Please, Lauren. Please.”

Her name on his lips is the final straw.

When he loses consciousness is what rips her heart in two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're welcome for shirtless Kieran. This is totally not my thirsty self speaking. This is also not my men-in-hoodies preference shouting at the top of her lungs, either.
> 
> The nightmare that Lauren recalls takes modified dialogue from Alina and the Darkling from L. Bardugo's 'Shadow and Bone' trilogy.
> 
> You're also welcome for...the last part. Ahem. I will not apologize. But this particular trope of mine is something I've always wanted to carry out, and now I have. *blocks out screaming* And now I have!
> 
> See you all in Act 3. Things get better. And they also get much, much worse.


	9. Act 3, Part 9: The Maiden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He continues to breathe, steadily and quietly. She keeps watching. She knows she shouldn’t. But it is rare to see him like this, without the burdens of the world on his shoulders.
> 
> With his prowess and intellect, Kieran White could’ve made a formidable officer of the law. A great captain, even. What a world that would be.
> 
> “That would be something,” she mutters bitterly. “You on my side from the start. Would you and I still hate each other then?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A present from me to you, foxes. We’re almost halfway there - so be prepared. For new developments, lore, a character or two, and...maybe...maybe...romance?
> 
> Also, I’d like to add this: a bullet wound to the chest WITHOUT harming the heart takes 6 to 8 weeks to recover. Let’s just assume Ardhalis has really good medicine, because we don’t have time for that long of a recovery period in the current timeline.
> 
> Anyhow. Have fun!

_January 20th, XX27_

_She looked like a helpless maiden. All torn up and on the ground, refusing my help. What a stubborn officer._

_And I helped her anyway. I had only meant to help her recover and heal her wounds. I didn’t expect to bring her_ here. 

_I can’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking about the line, and how I’ve crossed it._

_What have I done?_

____

  
  


Everything is underwater.

She can’t breathe. But it doesn’t alarm her in the slightest. She only watches as the hospital busies itself with the usual day-to-day schedule any hospital would: calls from patients, nurses in white walking around, an alert here and there. If Lauren closes her eyes for just a second and tunes out the sound of the waves, she remembers flashes of memories just hours ago. Ambulances whining in the air, red and blue flashing in her eyes, blood, _so much_ blood, and a whirlwind of transported dead and injured 11th precinct workers. Kieran and Kym both gone, one closer to death than the other. Neither have come out yet. Will refused to leave the sergeant’s side, but they forced him to wait next to her in the emergency room. And now they sit side by side. Him, with ruffled hair and a torn coat, soot on his skin. Her, torn apart inside, blood drying on her pants and coat and hands. 

It’s been hours. It feels like decades.

Neither of them say a word.

Lauren feels skin against the back of her hand, and turns slightly to see Will gripping onto her left, squeezing tightly. It’s to comfort her - and to comfort him. They’re both in despair. She squeezes back, because it is the only thing she can do.

She watches as a nurse runs across the hallway, white shifts rumpled as she gestures to several men in scrubs. An alert. Another doctor shouts for help. There is blood on several hands.

There is blood on her own.

She doesn’t want to think. She doesn’t want to feel. 

All Lauren does is turn the dial down, down. Watches without sound as a film noir plays out before her in white and red, in a world without end. 

____

Kym had tried to reach for him.

But the world went black, and she could no longer hear his voice. She tried calling out Will’s name, to tell him that it was alright, but the pain coursing through her body at a million miles per hour wouldn’t let her. For hours, there had been nothing but pain, a thousand knives to her nerves. And then lightning struck - like being tossed into the icy cold of a gray sky, floating, endless. 

Consciousness comes just as quick. When she wakes, she gasps for air, fog gassing up the mask on her mouth. She tears it off, shuddering as another jolt of pain lances through her head. In the room, there are machines all around her, an IV connected to her arm. Some strange sort of tubes attached to her chest. The walls are a peeling eggshell white, and sunlight filters through the blinds. A mirror is across from her, and Kym shudders as she takes in the sight of herself. Her short hair is a rat’s nest, and she’s deathly pale. Purple bruises are under her eyes. 

A knocking sounds on the door. 

“Come in,” she attempts to say, but it comes out as a hoarse gasp. A nurse comes in anyway, his slim figure covered in white. 

“You’ve been out for some time,” he says, writing something down on a clipboard. “How are you feeling, Ms. Ladell?”

“Tired,” she says honestly. “What happened? Is everyone alright?! I need to know if—”

“Everyone who has survived the bombing is alright,” he reassures her. “Unfortunately, we had few survivors, but I can confirm that two of your closest companions seem to be alive and whole. They’ll undergo treatment for minor injuries and shock soon.”

“How…” She grips the bedsheets tighter. “How many did we lose?”

The nurse looks grim. “You’ll have to speak with your captain about that. I’m only here to make sure that you’ve recovered from the poison.”

_“Poison—?”_ Kym shakes her head. “I don’t care about that. I need to see—”

Another nurse. “We have a visitor. He was very adamant on seeing her. I understand she isn’t fully recovered yet, but given the severity of the situation, we may allow him in.”

“Ten minutes,” says the nurse in front of her, sighing. “We don’t want to worsen the trauma that they’ve all faced this evening.”

When they both leave, Will nearly flings himself into the room. Kym winces at the sight of him, despite the joy in her chest - he’s still covered in ash, hair matted, cuts on his clothing. Has he been waiting for her all this time? The memories come rushing back. It had been dark, except flashes of him standing over her, a wraith of fury, blue eyes like a devil’s in the darkness. The opposite of the kind and benevolent boy who had always accompanied her throughout her worst. The one who stayed despite it all.

_“I thought you despised me?”_

_“So did I.”_

_“You don’t know sh—”_

_“Then you’re no better than me.”_

She swallows, hard. “I—”

“Don’t say a word,” Will says, walking up to her, relief coating his face. “Lauren’s alright. Lukas, Lila, most of them safe, but half our unit gone during the bombing. I thought - when they came - I should’ve done better, and it was risky, and I didn’t - I…”

“Shut up,” she says, and tears off her mask to grab at his collar. Will’s eyes snap open in shock as she tackles him in a hug, burying herself in his shoulder as her hands claw at his back. “Just shut up and don’t say anything else.”

“Kym, about what I said at the den—”

_“I said shut up,”_ she mutters, and pulls him closer. “It doesn’t matter. You’re stupid and an idiot and I hate that you protected me.”

“I know you hate me, but did you expect anything else?”

“I don’t hate you.”

Kym realizes what she has said a second too late. But some things can’t ever be unsaid, and she has to contend with Will meeting her gaze with his own, vulnerable and open and all boy. 

“Neither do I,” he admits, looking down. They break apart reluctantly, and Will holds out his hand. She looks down at it.

“Truce?”

The sun rises higher.

“Truce.” She coughs into her hand. “Do you know if the hospital has watermelon juice? I’m getting thirsty. Seriously.”

___

He won’t wake up.

Lauren watches him from afar. He’s breathing evenly, which is a start. But she remembers how bad the situation was when they’d first taken him into the emergency room. Doctors piling around him, red, red everywhere. And now he rests like a sleeping prince, Princess Aurora herself, hair in a neat ponytail and glasses nowhere to be found. In a bed, lashes fluttering weakly, waiting to be awakened, for a knight to come and break his slumber, and save him from his curse. 

She can’t come in anyways - for now, they’ve restricted visitors to immediate family for the moment. Lauren touches the bandages on her face and arms. The nurses had taken care of her wounds, but she still feels them as keenly as ever. It’s her heart that hurts the most. He’d begged. He had _begged._

“I hate you,” she mutters under her breath, watching through the glass window on the wooden door. 

He had nearly taken her life.

He had saved a life she loved.

It hurts. The confusion, more than anything.

He continues to breathe. She knows he won’t wake up for a while. She knows she should be glad if he doesn’t wake up. She knows she is lying to herself about the last part.

“Is this Room 1111?”

“It is, Seneschal Illes.” Lauren turns to see a woman in a fur coat with cascades of black hair down her shoulders, rouged lips, and a throng of men in suits around her. In the basket she is holding, a dozen purple hyacinths lie. 

“I see. You can wait at the front. And don’t think about coming for me. Otherwise, I just might have to behead you all. Queen’s orders.”

“Weird sense of humor,” Lauren murmurs, watching as the seneschal approaches her, eyes widening in surprise. A warm smile crosses over her face, but beneath the seemingly innocent facade, Lauren resists shuddering at the sight of her sharp gaze boring into her own. 

“Hello, officer. Their Majesties sent me along to give in-person condolences to the survivors of the 11th precinct bombing. An announcement will be made later today.” She holds out her hand. “Alina Illes.”

“Lauren Sinclair.”

She shakes her hand, but Alina pulls her in closer to whisper in her ear. Lauren watches her eyes dart to the sight of an unconscious Kieran. 

“Are you his partner, then? I’m terribly sorry about what happened, but to meet under circumstances such as this—”

Her hackles rise. “ _Seneschal_ , are you here to see him?”

“Initially, I was. I just didn’t realize how dire his condition was. I apologize again,” she says, chuckling softly. “I’m his associate. I’m not sure if he told you about me, but…” She trails off, something quizzical in her eyes. “You two seem to be close. I want to know that you can trust me to help you two accomplish your goal.”

Alina isn't lying, but that doesn’t make her any less suspicious. Lauren moves in front of the door, crossing her arms. “You’re here to bargain, then?”

“I don’t see the need for a bargain, threat, or blackmail of any form.” To her surprise, Alina rolls her eyes. “I understand your suspicion, Lauren. But in a world where everyone is out to kill you, I recommend trusting the few who won’t.”

“And if I still don’t trust you?”

“I’ll prove it to you.” She waves a hand. “A meeting with me in broad daylight. At the castle. I’ll tell you everything I know. And your partner will confirm.”

“You seem awfully confident about this.”

“I’m no brag,” she says, smirking. “But I know my abilities. Both if you are welcome to refuse at any time. But I would make a good ally. If you’ll accept my help.”

Impulsively, Lauren’s eyes dart to Kieran’s unconscious body. “It may be just one of us later on.”

“Then you have my word as seneschal that I will burn them down with you,” Alina hisses. Lauren sees a glint of metal in her coat - a sword hilt. 

“Yours?”

“Yes,” she says, stroking the sword fondly. “The heirloom of my family. I keep it close.”

“The two of you have something in common then,” she says softly. 

Alina stares at her with something she can’t discern. 

“Alright?”

“Not in the slightest,” she sighs. “This situation is his fault, you know.”

“Is it?”

“It is,” she says bitterly. “I really do hate him.”

Alina looks towards the window. And back at her. There it is - that look again. Like she can see directly through her. “You could choose to believe that. But a blade to the throat would hurt less. The lies we eat willingly go down smoother than honey and see us dead sooner than any poison.” 

Lauren is left speechless as she hands her the basket of flowers and walks away.

____

  
  


“This is terrible, Hermann,” Dakan says. “We’ve barely sustained one of the most devastating blows to the police department the city has ever seen.”

“I’m aware,” he says, folding his hands over themselves. “No doubt this is the result of the Phantom Scythe getting particularly brave with their antics. With Lune gone for more than two weeks now, they’ve taken risks they wouldn’t have dared before.”

_Which is why we need both of them behind bars,_ he thinks bitterly. _They will crumble this city to the bone if they continue like this._

“The patrol unit is largely intact. But we’ve lost a lot of officers. And the office is gone for good until rebuilding starts up in a week or two. Should we start relocating?”

“We have no choice to,” he says. “The 10th precinct has an empty building just outside of Capitol. We’re being drawn nearer to the heart of the city. This is what they _want._ ”

“Our unit specifically?” Dakan asks.

“There isn’t any other reason why they’d want to lure us in like bait,” he growls, “unless there are more traitors in our midst. Let’s begin questioning after they’ve recovered.”

____

  
  


It is dark when he wakes.

Kieran’s eyes flutter open, and blink once, twice. The moon - a crescent tonight - spills white onto his bedsheets. Wind whistles in from the cracked open window, and he adjusts to the dim lighting as he gathers his surroundings. Has it been a day? A week? The calendar on the wall next to the mirror reads _November,_ a month and more out of date. The clock ticks one in the morning.

“Good to see you again, Hyacinth.”

His hands reach for his sword, which is no longer there. Kieran whirls towards the sound of the voice, and finds a man in an olive-colored shirt and black pants, holding a balisong in-between his nimble pale fingers. He smiles, the gold on the rims of his glasses brightened by the glow of the lamp beside him on the couch. His brown hair is shorter than it was before.

“I haven’t seen you in ages, Lion.”

“Well, it has been a while since I was called out. Since you’re incapacitated. How did that even happen? You were always sharp during our training days.”

“I got caught off-guard by a very persistent police officer,” he says. “Apologies for the extra duties you’re taking.”

He snorts. “I have to take four tonight. You owe me a drink from the Carmellia.”

“Guilty as charged.” His lips break into a small smile. “It’s good to see you again, Nathaniel.”

“Now I know you’re close to dying,” he snorts. “A tip? Don’t wear those glasses anymore. Glasses suit me better. You look like a nun who was forced into becoming an archivist.”

“Does everyone around me have to insult my fashion choices?” He rakes a hand through his hair. “They’re broken anyway. The Scythe didn't have to bomb the 11th that hard.”

“All we did was get you closer to where you need to be,” Nathaniel reiterates. “You preserved all the documents from the archives we need?”

Guilt buries him five feet under as his mind flashes not to the information he’d managed to preserve, but to the seconds before what had really mattered - Kym and Will, defenseless, desperate. And her. _Her._ The focal point, the first thing he had zeroed in on, seeing red as he knocked her out of the way and felt metal tear through his flesh and bone. If there was anyone who deserved to live, it was her. He only made it through due to sheer luck.

“I did.”

“Then our plans are in motion.” Nathaniel stretches as he gets up, tucking his knives into his belt. “You never saw me. And don’t worry, Kieran. You’ll be retired soon, and sketch in your free time or plant gardens like you always wanted to do.”

“We can only hope,” he says grimly. 

In a flash, the assassin he’d known since his childhood days is gone.

____

When Kym gets out, Lauren nearly breaks all her ribs.

“You’re going to kill me,” she wheezes, and Lauren steps back rapidly, mouthing apologies at the speed of light. It’s been five days, nearly a week, and the doctors had declared her recovered well enough from what was apparently a poisoned bullet enough for her to get discharged. The mention of poison tickles at the back of her head, but for now, caring for her friend is more important.

“Where’s Will?”

“Out to get breakfast.” She snorts, winking at her friend. “Can you believe it? I asked him to get me a bagel with watermelon-flavored cream cheese on the side. And he didn’t even complain. I guess I should brave death more often. Make him my personal servant.”

“Is that the kind of love story you want to tell your grandkids?”

_“Laur!”_

“Kidding,” she says, snickering. “Don’t do that to poor Will. You’ll give him a heart attack if you do anything strenuous for the next couple days. I’ve seen it, Kym. He looks like he wants to go into cardiac arrest everytime it seems as if you’re in trouble.”

“It’s not my fault the hospital equipment is loud.” She pouts, but glances towards where Lauren is looking. The west wing, where Kieran is kept.

She’d thrown away the hyacinths once Alina had left. The smell had been unbearable.

But that’s not what haunts her.

“He cares, you know.” She raises a brow. “In fact, I think Flower Boy and I have a lot in common.”

Lauren scowls. “Flower Boy?!”

“Do you have a better nickname?” she quips. “Thought so. Anyhow, he reminds me of me. Of course, I was much more charming and delicate when we met.”

“You, delicate? As if. You bit my attackers when they tried to make a move on you. That was barely three years ago.”

“Yeah, but I saved you from those weirdos, didn’t I?” She sighs. “Same thing with him. I didn’t even know you, but I still wanted to protect you. Before you became my friend. Then with Evans. And you were going to do the same for me,” she says, an unusual genuineness in her voice. “Were it not for him. He took it for me. No doubt about that. But as much as he wanted to protect me...he wanted to protect you more, Lauren. I saw the way he looked at you before he passed out.”

She says nothing. 

“Go and talk to him, Lauren.” Kym nods in the direction of Kieran’s hospital room. “Whatever happened between you two...I think you need to fix it.”

She pulls her coat around her tighter.

“I don’t know how badly I’ve broken things,” she says slowly, tip-toeing around the full truth as best as she can. “I don’t know what I can do.”

“You do,” Kym says softly. “You do.”

“Patient visit?” calls a nurse from Room 1111. “Under the name of Sinclair?”

She freezes, shuddering as Kym raps her on the shoulder. “That’s her,” she calls out, pointing to Lauren. “You got this, Laur. I know you.”

“He’s resting for now, but if you’d like to see him—”

“I will,” Lauren says, keeping her expression as neutral as she can muster. “I’ll see him. Just give me ten minutes.”

____

“No visits?”

“Unfortunately,” says the doctor, inspecting his breathing. “Two people are scheduled for today, though. In the past few days, no one else. Is there any distant family we can contact?”

“No one,” Kieran says hurriedly. “Just friends.”

“I see,” the doctor says, a strange mix of pity and something else in his eyes. It makes bile rise in his throat; he doesn’t need to be _coddled,_ for goodness’ sakes, but he bites down the retort ready on his tongue. “Well, you have a visit soon. Under the name of Sinclair. Would you like to delay the next morphine injection? You’d be awake to see them, at least.”

He opens his mouth to say yes. And then closes it. 

There isn’t a point anymore. Kieran will never admit that it is no longer guilt keeping him front confronting his former partner in crime - but rather embarrassment. Shame. At being like this, helpless, at his weakest. Letting her see him for what he truly is. A coward. A monster. Someone who can never be brought back from the bloody past of his sins. He saved her - and Kym - from a worse fate only due to the sheer amount of self-loathing he’d been carting around for years. 

“No,” he says softly. “You can begin the injection now.”

____

He’s sleeping when she comes in. Lauren exhales loudly, closing the door gently behind her. But Kieran’s in a deep cycle, she notices, when she gets closer. Sheets tossed, scars on his skin. The bullet wound healing underneath bandages, delicate pink flesh healing. No longer a conducted prince. 

No longer a monster, either.

Human.

Painfully human.

She watches him. She doesn’t leave his side as she drags over a chair to sit next to him, tossing her coat to the side. Lauren shoves her auburn hair into a bun, crouching next to him. Terror racks her body - she won’t deny that. But the events of the past few days have led her to the crossroads of a decision she’s delayed for too long.

He continues to breathe, steadily and quietly. She keeps watching. She knows she shouldn’t. But it is rare to see him like this, without the burdens of the world on his shoulder.

With his prowess and intellect, Kieran White could’ve made a formidable officer of the law. A great captain, even. What a world that would be.

“That would be something,” she mutters bitterly. “You on my side from the start. Would you and I still hate each other then?”

No response. Lauren expected none, but it’s still odd to see him so silent.

Impulsively, she brings up a hand to his hair. It hovers over his forehead, where raven strands stick to his skin. 

“You shouldn’t do this,” she mutters to herself.

She does it anyway, sweeping Kieran’s bangs to the side. It’s not a gesture of affection by any means, and is done quickly, efficiently. But she still trembles as she lifts her hand to inspect her handiwork. His hair is neater, both sides tucked behind his ears.

Lauren swallows, suddenly finding it an appropriate time to leave. 

_I don’t,_ she thinks.

_I can’t,_ she realizes. _I can’t hate you._

Almost as if on cue, Kieran wakes, eyes cracking open slowly. 

Blue meets gold for the first time in forever.

“Lauren,” he whispers. “You’re okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EVERYBODY ABOARD THE SS REDEMPTION. PASSENGER OF ONE: KIERAN WHITE.
> 
> This chapter was mainly to develop the main four/ their relationships, and as such, no references were made this time around, because this chapter was mainly character development. But I promise you things will start to speed up after this point. There is no choice but for them to do so. And I’m taking you all down to Funky Town with me. I promised, didn’t I?


	10. Act 3, Part 10: The Ally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bouquet is shoved in Kieran’s face with the least amount of dignity he’s ever seen anyone demonstrate, ever. It is an elegantly thrown together mixture of bluebells, gladioluses, and primroses. He can see the top of her head peeking out from the arrangement, and when he takes it in his hands, the flowers part to reveal Lauren in a black coat, her uniform slightly wrinkled. There are eyebags under her eyes, and she is looking directly at him, her expression tense and ready to pounce. 
> 
> _Tigresse,_ his father said of women like her. _Always awaiting your every move._
> 
> “Glad to see you’re not dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE HALFWAY THERE! *pops bottles of Angst and Fluff* WOO!
> 
> As a treat, I have new songs for you all. I will say this now: pay attention to the song choices I include below. Some of them hint towards future events. Specific ones. Some that are very spicy. You'll see what I mean.
> 
> This chapter is a bit short, as it focuses on Lauren and Kieran mostly, and there is no journal entry this time around (as Kieran himself is recovering) but post Part 10, this fic will start to get more plot-heavy and lengthier. More anguish is definitely coming quick, especially with Lauren herself. As this fic's unreliable narrator and protagonist, I remind you all that the tone of the fic takes after her worldview, which shifts rapidly over the course of twenty chapters. Now we are down to ten, and our girl...changes over the course of said chapters. You'll see.
> 
> CUC Playlist (Part 2):
> 
> 'The Ballad of Mona Lisa' - Panic! at The Disco  
> 'Young God' - Halsey  
> 'Ship To Wreck' - Florence and the Machine  
> 'I am You' - Jung Seung Hwan  
> 'Show Me How' - Men I Trust  
> 'Your Mistake' - Sister Hazel  
> 'King and Lionheart' - Of Monsters and Men  
> 'A Little Wicked' - Valerie Broussard  
> 'Cold War' - Janelle Monae  
> 'Haunting' - Halsey

“You’re okay.”

Lauren can do nothing but stare. For a moment only, she is captured in time, space, in the seconds where she can no longer look away from Kieran’s gaze. He’s groggy and clearly still in a stupor. Vulnerable. Something he has never, ever been with her. Something she has never been with him. His eyes flit up and down her face. She’s still bandaged, and his mouth opens as if to ask her a question, but closes quickly. She can’t speak. 

So Lauren leaves, and tears herself from him as she strides out the door in three smooth steps, closing it behind her. 

Outside the door is a slip of paper in the slots where gifts would normally be dispersed from guests and visitors, and she reaches through to pull it out. Alina’s number looks up at her through elegant cursive, the numbers like a recitation in her head.

Before she can chicken out of another decision, Lauren stuffs it into her pocket, making her way out of the hospital - and for the Aevasther Castle.

____

  
  


It’s imposing. 

Any castle is, really, but the Aevasther’s residence takes the cake. Hyacinths bloom here freely, a statement, a clear message even after the ruin Kieran has brought to this city: _we will not back down._ She rings the bell at the gate, answering nervously when a voice over the intercom asks her monotonously who she’s here for. Seconds later, Alina strides out in full regalia - a cream-colored dress of chiffon that sways around her ankles like rich flower petals, and pearls dripping from her ears, a far call from her usual darkly colored ensemble. She waves a hand to Lauren, who looks down at her uniform, wincing.

“It’s the dress code,” she explains. “Don’t feel insecure about it. Lizbeth and I were in the middle of a council meeting.”

“I didn’t mean to intrude—”

“You’re not at all!” she exclaims, shoving away the guards that hover over her as she opens the gates herself to let the officer in. “Actually, your timing is perfect. I was getting bored listening to old men drone on about what they would’ve done to the Purple Hyacinth if they had the means. But the council’s corrupt, and it’s hard pressed to find anyone who I don’t want to behead these days.”

She nearly freezes in her tracks as they walk the gravel path up to the castle, towering spires reaching the cloudy skies above. 

“You’re joking, right?”

“I’m not lying.” Alina throws a small smile her way. 

“You’re not,” Lauren says, and her suspicion decreases by a millimeter. The seneschal may be prim and proper as anything, but her penchant for murdering rivals that of the Phantom Scythe’s most valued assassins.

“And no, I don’t kill for them,” she whispers. “Only when necessary.”

“And yet you’re at the top.”

“Connections, Lauren.” She grits her teeth as they step into the foyer, all marble and sandstone, with wooden walls polished to a shine, banners of the royal deer everywhere. “The Leader likes his pets.”

Something about the way Alina says _pets_ makes her shiver.

“You have a plan. Don’t you?”

“Two.” She looks back at the officer. “One as to explain your presence here, and second, to get you and your partner closer to the Leader.” A metal pendant on a silver chain meets the palm of her hand, and Lauren’s eyes widen as she realizes what it is. 

A crescent moon.

Alina Illes could make a very dangerous enemy on the other side of the war. 

“I look forward to Lune’s return,” she whispers. Lauren closes her hands over the pendant. 

“Hopefully.”

_Hopefully. If Kieran makes it out safely. If I ever forgive him._

But she had said what she said anyway.

“You look like you’re going to die,” she says, grinning as she crosses her arms. “Really, I’m not out to kill you. You’re one of the few I will spare from a beheading, _ya amar._ ”

Lauren doesn’t ask whether the foreign nickname is in insult or a compliment. “Thanks for the confirmation.”

“Don’t mention it,” she says, waving a gloved hand. “For my sake, you’re here because I wanted the police department’s input on the royal family’s next steps to securing Ardhalis’s far less bloody future. Do we have a deal?”

There is no hand shaking this time. That is for another, closer, ally. “Yes.”

“Excellent.” She claps her hands together. _“Melior!”_

“Yes, Seneschal?”

“Clear the Periwinkle Room.” She winks at Lauren. “I have a guest I need to attend to.”

____

Lauren has had her fair share of tea from the Red Rose, so she doesn’t object when the maids cart over black coffee at Alina’s request, bitter and rich. The view from here is breathtaking: in a room lined with glass bookshelves and periwinkle paint itself, the triptych of glass windows to her right shows a full view of the city below, topped with crowns of snow still icing over from the last storm. 

When their company leaves, Lauren moves, but Alina practically forces her to sit again, reassuring her of no recording equipment anywhere.

“I’d know,” she drawls. “And if there were any bugs—”

Lauren makes a throat-slitting motion. Alina nods in approval, smiling.

“Then tell me what you know about the Leader.”

The seneschal tenses, barely. 

“What you should know at first, Lauren, is that the Leader constantly monitors his closest for any waverings of loyalty. He does the same to me. Therefore, most of my information is grounded guesswork.”

“Your guesswork is impressive to say the least,” grumbles Lauren. _More like eerily accurate. “He?”_

“He,” Alina confirms. “I can safely say that from what I have seen in the Scythe’s interactions with the Leader that it is a _he._ ”

“Then that gets us somewhere,” she says, adrenaline running through her veins. No matter how much time has passed, the old detective instincts to start sniffing around for information always come quick. “How secretive are his appearances?”

“To his messengers, very. It varies by Apostle. I’ve checked with the ones that will talk.”

“Which ones?”

“Two out of twelve,” she says bitterly, “one of which I had to kill.”

“Was one of them Apostle Twelve?”

Alina raises her glass. “The one taking over the Leader’s operations from under his nose. Spot-on, Lauren. I always wondered how far ahead Lune was.”

She bows her head at the compliment. “It’s my job.”

“You don’t operate on duty. That’s clear.” Something like sadness crosses into Alina’s gaze. “Both of us are bound, but your motivations aren’t one-dimensional. And I won’t ask. I’m just grateful.”

“Grateful for what?”

“Grateful the monarchy doesn’t breathe down your neck every second of every day,” she quips. “I made a promise as seneschal to be the heart of the monarchy. Sometimes what the law forces you to do to instill it is...dubious. Let’s just leave it at that.”

Lauren doesn’t question it further. 

“It’ll be nice to have someone on the inside. Two, actually.”

“Your partner,” Alina agrees. “He didn’t seem to like the hyacinths.”

“I threw them out,” she says. **“The smell bothers him.”**

“I’ll bring different flowers next time,” she says, pondering. “He’ll make it out alright. So don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t—” Lauren sighs. “It’s complicated.”

“You don’t need relationship advice, do you?”

_“Not in the slightest,”_ she exclaims, gripping the arms of her chair tighter.

Alina laughs. “Joking. But I can tell you’re worried. Don’t. But my door’s always open,” she says, eyes twinkling mischievously. “And so is my help.”

____

The hospital foyer is bustling with energy. Kieran has barely taken one step into it when he is instantly confronted with a nurse, gesturing to a flower bouquet in the middle of the foyer, held up by a pair of hands. He can’t see who it is, even as he walks closer to his visitor. 

“Here.”

The bouquet is shoved in Kieran’s face with the least amount of dignity he’s ever seen anyone demonstrate, ever. It is an elegantly thrown together mixture of bluebells, gladioluses, and primroses. He can see the top of her head peeking out from the arrangement, and when he takes it in his hands, the flowers part to reveal Lauren in a black coat, her uniform slightly wrinkled. There are eyebags under her eyes, and she is looking directly at him, her expression tense and ready to pounce. 

_Tigresse,_ his father said of women like her. _Always awaiting your every move._

“Glad to see you’re not dead.”

He picks at a bluebell. “I’m sorry.”

Her jaw goes slack in shock, but other than that, she does not let on the slightest amount of surprise.

“I know.” Lauren bites down on her bottom lip. “Just don’t pull a stunt like that again. You’re not the chivalrous type.”

“My actions say otherwise, officer.”

She falls silent again, and Kieran wonders if this is the final line he has crossed. Fear hasn’t left him since that day in the office when she held a knife against his throat, her eyes brighter than any sun that morning.

“You saved Kym.” It’s not a question.

“I did.”

“Why?”

“You know why,” he says, and immediately regrets it. Kieran swallows down any remaining pride he has, and manages to meet her gaze once again. “She was going to die. If you lost her…”

Lauren’s fists unclench. It’s a start. “Thank you.”

Silence again. Where there used to be their banters and casual remarks is now something deeper, yearning to be filled. But it is too difficult to fill it now when none of them know how to make the first move. But Kieran knows one thing: if he hasn’t crossed the line, then he might as well do so now.

“Did you mean what you said?” she asks, before he can speak again. “All of it.” Lauren looks directly at him as she says it, watching as he twirls a bluebell in his hands, over and over.

“All of it,” he says without hesitation. “For everything.” He pauses. “I’m sorry that I hurt you. I won’t touch you ever again, if that’s what you want. And you can feel free to unload your pistol on me if I ever do again. But I’m not your enemy, Lauren.”

She bows her head.

“Why?”

_Why did you try to kill me?_

Now it’s his turn.

“Because I couldn’t bear the thought of you thinking that I was a monster,” he forces out. “Anyone but you, officer.”

“You’re not a monster,” she says quietly. He promptly shuts his mouth. Lauren looks back up.

“I don’t know what I should do with you, assassin.”

He smirks. There is no arrogance in it. “Do you know where to start?”

Lauren, for the first time in weeks, decades, an eternity, manages to meet his own smile. 

“For starters, you’re limping. Let me take you home.” 

“I’m not—”

“Stubborn,” she says, shaking her head, and with a snap of her fingers, he’s promptly shoved into a wheelchair, her hovering above him. Her auburn hair dangles freely; for once, it isn’t in a bun or a ponytail. “You literally just got shot not that long ago. Remind me to teach you how to fire a pistol.”

**“I know how to shoot.”**

“Sure, liar,” she grumbles, refusing to meet his eyes as she wheels him out the front doors.

_I missed this,_ he thinks to himself as she calls for a cab. And then, another, more treacherous thought invades his mind, and he lets it.

_I missed you._

______

This is how the story goes:

Once upon a time, there was a detective, on the road to rebuilding the high and mighty castle of her revenge, of ten years’ worth of pain and hate and anguish. Preparing her bullets, even as she fell from her spotlight in the darker parts of this city; refusing to give up even as she switched out her hat and coat for a vest and worn jacket, a mask over those blazing eyes. Here she was, desperate enough in her helplessness to make a deal with the devil, and suffer under his wrath.

Once upon a time, there was an assassin, hell-bent on escaping a tower. Desperate enough to carry his weight in blood and shadow and blade, and prideful enough to make a deal with the light. Ashamed enough to dance closer to her, closer, until they eventually broke apart because they could no longer stand the truthfulness of each other’s sorrow.

Once upon a time, they brought each other to ruin, Lauren knows, and she also knows she should be bringing him down, down, far away from the gaping mouth of this city, into her own territory, an arrow directly to his heart—

____

  
  


—but here she is, removing it, cleaning the wound, after he has mended hers—

This is all so familiar and yet entirely new.

Kieran winces as they ascend the stairs to his home. “Don’t squeeze so hard, officer.”

“You’re the one clinging onto my shoulders like a toddler,” she mutters, keys jingling in her hand as she opens the door, wrapping a tentative hand around his waist as she guides him in. Memories threaten to overwhelm her, but she shoves them out.

“My, my. You’re not taking me to your home?”

“You need rest here, and if I took you home, Uncle and the other maids would think of you as my current partner. And I do _not_ want to have another midnight incident like last time.”

“Another one of your failed dates? Scandalous.”

She presses down ever so slightly on his chest as she steadies him, hand directly above his heart. Lauren tosses him a wicked smile. “Don’t make me make you relive that day.”

He swallows, but falls silent.

“Good boy,” she says, smirking as she pats the top of his head. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He makes a noise of protest, but Lauren ignores it as she helps him strip off his jacket and sweater, the bandages on his skin bulging through the shirt he wears. She resists the urge to untangle his hair - it hasn’t bothered her before, but now it’s an annoyance unlike any another - and pulls him up again as she helps him make his way to the bedroom.

“Are you staying?”

She stops walking.

The question isn’t a double entendre, but it feels like one. Lauren looks around the apartment: it’s desolate, empty. He’s well enough to operate, but it’s going to be another day or two before he can fully function on his own. How ironic. The bringer of death now recovering from death itself.

“Yeah,” she forces out. “Yeah, I’ll stay. Don’t want to see you accidentally crack your head open trying to make food in the morning.”

_“Officer.”_

“You take the bed, I’ll take the couch,” she recites, shoving him into the down mattress. “I’ll shoot you if you try anything strenuous.”

“It would be an honor to be shot by you,” he drawls, grinning.

“Don’t push it,” she says, laying his crutches by the wall. “Call if you need anything.”

“Including you?”

Lauren resists the urge to stride out right then and there. They’ve started it. Their dance. Their little game, now up and running again. And if it all breaks, if it all comes tumbling down—

But he promised. And so did she.

“Including me,” she says. “Sweet dreams, assassin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now instead of lilies, Kieran holds a bluebell, which means 'humility' amongst other meanings.
> 
>  _'Ya amar'_ = an Arabic term of endearment for friends/loved ones, meaning 'my moon.' Alina uses it in a friendly mocking context.
> 
> Did we actually do it? Communication in MY Purple Hyacinth? It's more likely than you think. Yeah, I reused a WC meme. Don't @ me. Three apologies just to get where we are. And beyond...


	11. IMPORTANT NOTICE

So.

I’ve made the very hard and very difficult decision to let the War of the Foxes series go. It took more of a toll on me than I expected; writing out a 7k count for each chapter was extremely tiring/just THINKING about the 140-160k worth of words I’d have to conquer, counting BOTH Cities Under Crowns and its would be sequel, World Without End, made me more stressed than I’d like to admit. I think it was partially due to my overzealousness: this time, unlike with ‘workplace,’ I bit off more than I could chew. Some writers can handle shooting out 100-200k in four months or less. That isn’t me.

But. But. If there’s one thing I hate more than an unfinished story, it’s hanging threads.

So even though War of the Foxes/Cities Under Crowns will no longer continue, I’ve decided to give you all a rundown on what would've happened in the series - which is partially a result of future season theories, and me screaming my lungs out about The Angst, Galore.

____

**Cities Under Crowns (Plot):**

-The batches Daphne was brewing in the Phantom Scythe laboratory is within the Red Rose; which is a cover front for a secret poison-manufacturing lab. Think of the mafia, except with more afternoon tea and scones. The poison is like the Joker Venom used in Ed Brubaker’s _The Man Who Laughs_ (one of the novels referred to in Purple Hyacinth season 1) _;_ this was part speculation and part creative thinking on my part. It would’ve been given to the citizens through the water supply, and would’ve eventually poisoned the river, like it does in the comic. This, all resulting in a near-zombified population of Ardhalis, would’ve been the Big Bad our main cast would’ve had to face off against.

-The 17th would’ve featured both a circus and a ball. A bomb would’ve gone off at the ball, while everyone else was occupied by the circus, including Lauren and Kieran themselves, commencing the beginning of the Scythe’s mass poisoning.

-Hermann would turn out to be a double-crosser; a spy for the Scythe. He, however, was always succumbing to his ego from the start, wanting to capture Lune - and Lauren - due to the shame they brought upon the APD. He later becomes Chief at the end of Cities under Crowns after…

-...Tristan gets _fired_ due to having connections with the Phantom Scythe as well. He, however, was not a double-crosser, just an informatant for them. Why? To keep Lauren safe. She finds out about this in the end, and despises him for it, but understands eventually.

(Initially, I was going to kill him off, but I figured this would be a more interesting plot point to deal with.)

-Lizbeth is the _true_ Big Bad behind all this. The monarchy was the one going after Ardhalis, and Allendale was her doing. She wanted to keep herself in power, and with that in mind, the Phantom Scythe would’ve come to light as a gray-leaning rebellion, almost as a force of _justice._ Alina was her pawn, but you’ll see what she does later on in my character notes. (Phillip and his son were her puppets, metaphorically speaking.)

-This aspect of WOTF creates a Grey v. Grey conflict, not a Good v. Bad conflict. You see?

-The Leader of the Phantom Scythe is revealed in the end. I won’t say who it is for now, because you’ll know in the Character section of this entire rant.

____

**Cities Under Crowns (Character Arcs):**

Lauren:

Ah, Lauren. You absolute disaster of a human being.

Lauren, as many of you suspected, would’ve gone dark. However, the first ten chapters of Cities Under Crowns don’t make it seem that way. She seems to snap under pressure - threatening Kieran, acting recklessly with Scythe suspects, ignoring her health more than she was already - but post the hospital arc, she gets better, almost, communicating with her partner, and resolving many conflicts she has within herself.

Daphne’s tea reading in Chapter 11 would’ve shredded her development to nothing. Sorry. (But it’s Lauren’s choice in the end to go two steps forward and ten steps backwards.) She then shuts herself in, metaphorically speaking, and tries to distance herself from Kieran, Kym, and Will, knowing that if she wants to truly uncover the truth, she has to break the law - and her own code. What she doesn’t realize is that by now, she’s already lost sight of her so-called justice, and has succumbed to revenge. Post-13, she would’ve straight up _booked it_ to Beltone after Sake went there for shipment retrievals. And post-14, she would’ve interrogated one of Sake’s associates, nearly killed Sake himself, and had a mental breakdown in her hotel room over her portable murder board containing Dylan’s picture. And when I mean mental breakdown, I mean mental breakdown - crying, yelling, furniture destruction. Don’t worry though. By the end of 16, Kieran (Ultimate Simp White) would’ve shown up to take her home. Cue the runaway train at the train station and a couple of flower petals in the wind.

She isn’t happy with this. In Chapter 17, my favorite, Lauren would’ve embodied Grumpy Cat for three days straight on the train, with Kieran forcing her to open up to him eventually. However, just as she is about to get better, Tristan gets fired, and that sends her into a worse spiral. Cue to wine-drunk Lauren at midnight at the office. Cue to...you’ll see.

Post-17, Lauren would’ve perceived herself as the monster due to all the terrible things going on around her. She would’ve shut off all three of her friends, and gone looking for the Leader, with Alina’s help. Unfortunately, the bombing screws over everything, and she would’ve been kidnapped alongside the seneschal and brought to the castle, where Lizbeth would reveal her intentions in a Dramatic Villain Monologue™. Lauren would then be outed as one-half of Lune and Kieran’s accomplice due to Alina being forced to confess the truth under a modified version of the poison, and the two would’ve been locked in the Tower together - with Lauren in a cell across from the former seneschal’s. Sorry.

(I SAID I’M SORRY STOP YELLING AT ME IT’S NOT OVER YET)

Kieran:

Ah. Him. There is he. The...man who we all love to hate until he does That Thing in Chapter 8 and we have no choice but to smother him with kisses.

You already know how his development goes through Chapters 1-10. Post 10, his arc would’ve looked pretty similar overall - with the help of Kym and Will as his newfound comrades-in-arms and later, friends, he would’ve undergone a positive influence, unlike Lauren, and become overall more compassionate and a better person. This, however, does not fix his long-term complex: thinking he is a monster. He believes he cannot fix this, and constantly battles between his duty and his ‘human’ calling - the persona he identifies with during the day, and during the night. The diary entries would reveal that Kieran was not, in fact, one of the children kidnapped by the Scythe - but one of the children lured into it, due to family issues and the slow, methodical brainwashing he endured under them, alongside torture. Bringing, morbidly, the Tortured Bad Boy to a whole new level.

Post-17, his mindset gets worse, due to the fact that Lauren is shutting him out, and the fact that he is slowly falling for her, although he won’t admit that to himself. Losing her to the Tower makes things worse - but not before he is outed by Belladonna on the Scythe’s end, forcing him to flee into hiding with Kym. He discovers who the Leader is in the end, which makes things even worse. Luna! You cry. How can it get worse?

Well, the Leader’s Dylan Rosenthal, and Kieran knows who Dylan is due to Lauren’s drunken rant in Chapter 17.

Ah, the pain.

Kym:

Hoo boy. You know the ‘Break the Cutie’ trope?

That’s what we do here.

Our sergeant, who has always closed herself off from others, especially Will, learns to be a bit more expressive with her true thoughts and emotions post-Chapter 10. In 11, however, tensions arise between her and Will regarding the Lune investigation they’re doing - namely because Will is now hesitating to go after Lune due to the good they’ve brought them, and Kym still wanting to continue the investigation due to her own suspicions - and her secret desire to patch things up with Will, because she thinks that outside the Lune investigation bringing them together, they’d otherwise be workplace rivals. She also anguishes over the death of her former brother, Daniel (D.L initials on the pocketwatch we’ve seen in season 1), and is torn between letting others in or shutting them out.

Post-13, when Lauren leaves for Beltone with no explanation, Hermann puts pressure on both of them to find the ‘True Lune,’ because he believes the two bodies Kieran passed off in 11 were not the true Lune. This drives a wedge further between her and Will, and showcases their mentality towards the vigilante duo. The two end up fighting more often about what they want from each other, and leave things on a bad note before the ball. Unfortunately...you’ll see what happens in Will’s section.

Will:

(Another ‘Break the Cutie!’ Like the oranges!)

Will cannot handle it. That is all.

No, I’m serious. Homeboy needs like, 100 KitKat bars. Between caring for his mother, investigating Lune, and attempting to shatter Kym and Lauren’s unbreakable barriers, Will is not having a great time. His unhealthy mentality of ‘I’ll handle it’ lasts for most of Cities Under Crowns, never breaking once - which says something about the depth of his kindness, and the devastation it brings to him. The conflict between him and Kym - more a philosophical debate about how to deal with those working outside the law - worsens this. He only breaks when - don’t kill me for this - his mother dies towards the end of Chapter 18, causing him to break down in Kym’s arms, and when the Scythe captures him from the ball, poisoning him and turning him into a brainwashed soldier.

(STOP YELLING AT ME)

He and Kym have a brief fight as enemies in the main square, in which she refuses to shoot him, and barely escapes him trying to _kill her_ when Kieran pops in and barely manages to knock Will out for only a second. The two them stare at each other as they seperate for the rest of the fic, Kym clearly agonized over leaving her friend behind.

(AKA the man who she’s started to fall for, but we don’t talk about that yet)

Alina:

BABY GIRL ANGEL DARLING SWEETHEART HONEY I LOVE YOU

Ahem. Forgive my enthusiasm.

Alina doesn’t change much, but there is one thing that does. The reason for this being partially the most sane and mentally healthy character out of EVERYONE in WOTF. If Alina was the protagonist, Purple Hyacinth would be over in 5 episodes. Which is why, instead, we have Lauren at the helm, ramming our cruise ship into every single iceberg in existence.

Our dear seneschal was actually a good guy all along. Similarly to Kieran, she sticks to a code when acting for the Scythe, killing any suspects of monarchy sympathizers when necessary. Post Chapter 10, she would’ve spurred on Kieran to go find his wife - ahem, Lauren, what?! And gotten down to the bottom of finding the Leader. Her main conflict resides in serving the monarchy, and what she has to do for Lizbeth. Lizbeth throwing her to the winds in the end breaks any alignment she has for the monarchy, and she declares her intention of taking down both the monarchy/Scythe forces as Sword of the Crown.

Daphne:

Daphne. Daphne, Daphne, Daphne.

Who actually turns out to be bad. But not really. And dies.

Are you surprised? You shouldn’t be. Beaumont here was forced into manufacturing poisons due to her background as a _scientist_ and arborist (she wasn’t lying to Lauren in the beginning, just omitting information) due to her shady background. The batch she eventually finalizes is called the ‘Apollo’ (HA) and is also the batch Belladonna uses to kill her (HAHAHAHAH). Lauren discovers her close to death in Chapter 19, and barely gets the antidote Daphne secretly manufactured underneath the Scythe’s watch. She dies under a laurel tree. Are we surprised? Again, no.

Belladonna:

Last one, kiddies. We’re getting to your ships. Don’t worry.

Bella was brought into the Scythe from a young age, and understood that the only way she could possibly be in power was to climb to the top. What she said in Chapter 2 to Kieran was true - as long as Bella got her steady paycheck and status, she was okay with it. Belladonna is a remarkably selfish, yet sympathetic character, till the end, despite her actions. In ironic contrast to Daphne, both women came from bad backgrounds and terrible households, leading them to seek something better, only to get wrapped up in bloody business.

Initially, I was going to kill off Belladonna at the end of Cities Under Crowns. I decided against it. For now.

Everyone Else:

-Nathaniel: Remains alive. For now.

-Eliot: Remains alive. For now.

-March: Dies. RIP. You will be missed. Ish?

-Lukas and Lila: Remain alive.

____

**Cities Under Crowns (Character Relationships):**

I’ve basically spoiled Kywi for you all. So, now all we have is the main event.

Get out your popcorn.

LAUKI:

We all know how it goes from the beginning, right? She was an officer, he was an assassin, can I make it any more obvious? Okay, she liked knives, he did ballet…

Kidding. But in all seriousness, Lauren and Kieran’s relationship is an extremely toxic one until Chapters 8-10, in which they forgive each other - but do not fully forget - what they have done to one another; Kieran’s actions being significantly worse than Lauren’s. Chapter 11 onwards, the two agree to work together at a distance, as Lauren wishes to not get attached, and Kieran to harm her again. The events proceeding that chapter, however, require in-depth teamwork (hello, plot) and so Lune comes back again - in secret, as they are now in conjunction with Alina, who has tipped them off to outside suspectors. They have no choice but to work close together, and to _get_ close together - even as Lauren books it for Beltone, and Kieran goes off to get her. I have omitted two important facts from this arc.

One: Kieran watches Lauren going around Lieserdam, Beltone (think Amsterdam) when he arrives. He doesn’t know what to do, because he is afraid of screwing things up (what an idiot) and watches her throughout the day. And in the evening, he draws her by the river. Cue screaming. Two: when they get off the train, Kieran charades him and her as a married couple with rings to match. Cue everyone screaming.

And then Chapter 17 shows up to Thanos-snap everyone. Cue Lauren having a late-night breakdown fest. Cue Kieran bringing her said wine and himself as company. Cue Kieran saying that Lauren can use him if she needs comfort.

Cue the Lauki Kiss Against A Door With Snow Outside. There are fans screaming. Somewhere, 1,000+ readers are shattering the sound barrier. Someone is crying on the floor. I, too, am crying.

And then it all goes wrong, you know the drill, and Lauren goes to Monopoly Jail and Kieran goes into hiding with Kym.

Sorry.

STOP YELLING AT ME I HAVEN’T EVEN TOLD YOU ABOUT THE SEQUEL!!!  
  


____

  
  


The Sequel in Question:

-Titled ‘World Without End’

-Would’ve featured Lauren with bob-length hair, because I just want our girl to cut Tatiana and make her fancy

-Would’ve featured Kieran and Kym busting Lauren and Alina out of Monopoly Jail - ahem, the Tower

-Would’ve taken ten plus chapters to get Will back, plus a Kym and Will hug + reunion

-Would’ve featured the deaths of (sorry) Tristan, Belladonna, and Nathaniel

-Would’ve featured another kiss scene between Kieran and Lauren in the moonlight/a kiss between Kym and Will

-Would’ve revealed that Lauren saved Kieran from an untimely death when she was a cadet in training; which was why Kieran hesitated to kill her in season 1 (think Dimitri and Anastasia)

-Would’ve has Lauren and Dylan confront their past and future, eventually leading to Dylan’s sacrificial death at the hands of Lauren herself (sorry)

-Would’ve had a happy ending

-Would’ve featured Lauren running to the new Allendale Station to join Kieran in exile

-Would’ve featured an epilogue in which the two are married, and are thinking of having children after Alina’s kids (as she becomes queen) visit their hyacinth garden. Kym and Will visit, and so do the rest of their loved ones.

And lastly...

This is no substitute for a series. But fate is fate, and now you all have some small amount of comfort. I hope it does quell your hearts to know that I have always had a hopeful ending for the cast of PH always and forever.

With love,

-Luna ❤️


End file.
